Persuading Draco
by LeanaM
Summary: Magical Regency AU. Many years ago, Draco Malfoy made a mistake when he let Hermione Granger walk away. But then circumstances bring them together again, and he realises that he never really got over her. But can she forgive him for his choices? Can he forgive himself? Jane Austen's Persuasion meets Harry Potter.
1. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

**_Author's note_**

 _The artwork for this project was made by the brilliant and amazingly talented Freya Ishtar, whose works you should read at the earliest opportunity  
(or after you have finished mine, at the very least...)_

 _The plot belongs to the inimitable Miss Austen, and the characters were created by the equally magnificent J.K. Rowling._

 _So what did I do for this endeavour, you wonder?_

 _Why, I brought the two together to create this little frivolity, for no reason but my leisure and your entertainment, and to honour two of my favourite authors.  
The result, as a matter of course, is a carefully crafted work of fiction that does credit to neither._

 _But as it is written, it may as well be published._

* * *

 **1\. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper**

Lady Narcissa Malfoy of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire once had many interests to occupy her days, but lately only one thing soothed her nerves and gave her the strength to face the ill fortune the Fates had recently thrown into her path. When the library provided no distractions, the rose garden no comfort, her music room no relief, she would retire to the Heritage Room, where the Malfoy tapestry decorated the walls.

The tapestry traced the ancestry of the family she had married into all the way back to Armand de Malfoi, who left his ancestral home in Brittany to conquer new lands as a trusted advisor to the Muggle King William the Conqueror. Lady Narcissa, herself born from the illustrious House of Black, always could find solace in that room, surrounded by history and successes. Her eyes followed the tree as she recited to herself the names of all the Malfoys that had been before, and the Greengrasses and Yaxleys and Blacks they had married. The steady stream of names calmed her nerves as nothing else could these days, until she arrived at the end of the tree, once so voluminous, now reduced to one surviving branch, and the sight of her husband's name brought tears to her eyes again. She skipped over Lucius Malfoy, ignoring the stab of pain in her heart, and her eyes lingered on the last name, Draco Malfoy, their only son and child.

A son for whom she had once had such high hopes... But no marriage or children had extended the family yet, though there had been talk of Pansy Parkinson once. A marriage contract had even been drawn up, but it was never executed. Draco had refused to comply, and Miss Parkinson had moved to the Continent soon after. It was the only time in over five years he had shown any spirit at all, and though Narcissa rejoiced at the realisation that her beloved son must still be somewhere inside the shell of a man he had become, she regretted it had happened just as they were hoping to settle an alliance with the rich and powerful Parkinson family.

Of course, some would insist it had been an unfavourable time to enter into a marriage. Soon after her son graduated from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Great Wizarding War had broken out, spiralling the magical population of the British Isles into chaos for five long years. The Malfoys had fought bravely on the side of Lord Riddle, honouring their Pureblood legacy. Like her husband, Narcissa had never wavered in her belief that those born of magical bloodlines should be given the respect and precedence that was their due in magical Society.

Pride was the beginning and end of Narcissa Malfoy, and that pride had kept her from losing her wits as the tables turned on them in the War. Lord Riddle and his supporters had become more and more detestable as their cause blurred from Pureblood support into Muggle subjugation. Narcissa had no patience for Muggles. She began to realise her family had become more and more entangled in atrocities and vicious battles, and only the end of the war would save them. She no longer cared which side won. Her husband had become even more ruthless. Her son, once the apple of her eye and the sun in her life, had become a shadow of his former self. She had forgotten what his laughter sounded like. Her sister was insane. It had to stop.

She was relieved when Harry Potter and his forces had finally defeated Lord Riddle, and her husband and son had survived the last battle. The War was finally over, and they could begin to live again. But then those wretched trials had begun...

Yes, whenever Lady Narcissa wandered the halls of Malfoy Manor these days, she found herself drawn to that same room, one of the few rooms that had never been occupied by Death Eaters, one of the few rooms that held no war memories. There she could sit in peaceful silence and think of her husband, whom she had not seen for almost a year while he was in the custody of the Ministry awaiting trial. There she could worry about her son, still only little more than a ghost, though his eyes were no longer empty and soulless. No, they were hard and unforgiving now, especially when she mentioned his father, the trials or anything even remotely related to the War. This room was the only place she could escape the world that was so unjustly crumbling around her.

She had not been marked by Lord Riddle and had never participated in any battles - it really wasn't a Lady's place to do so - and therefore had escaped conviction, though she was still under house arrest for the duration of Lucius' trial. Draco's hearings had gone by in a whirlwind of emotions. Her indifferent health had kept her from attending the proceedings and since he refused to speak of it, she had no idea what had happened. She did know he was acquitted. She still hadn't seen him smile.

The only communication she had with Lucius was through Mr. Goldstein, the family lawyer. It bothered her that the Ministry had yet to allow her to visit her husband, and she might never see him again. But she had to believe… Because Malfoys never gave up. Malfoys never lost. She had to believe Lucius would join her again soon, and they would take up their place in Society as before, leading the way for Purebloods everywhere. Lady Narcissa let her eyes travel back to her husband's name, elegantly embroidered in green and silver on the massive tree, his branch entwined with her own name. Her fingers delicately traced the embroidery, and for a moment, she felt close to him again.

A house-elf popped into the room, startling her out of her reverie. "Essie is sorry, Mistress, but Master is wanting Mistress to come to the little drawing-room. Master says lawyer is here."

Narcissa merely nodded and dismissed the house-elf with an impatient gesture. She clasped her hands together, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Finally, news about Lucius' trial. She hurried out of the Heritage Room, anxious to hear what the man had to say.


	2. Justice be done

**2\. Justice be done**

Draco Malfoy and Zachariah Goldstein stood up from their seats when Narcissa swept into the room.

"Lady Malfoy, a pleasure, as always," said the lawyer, as he bent over her outstretched hand.

Narcissa then turned to her son, who merely nodded in her direction.

"Mother."

Draco's voice was cold and distant. He ignored her attempt to kiss his cheek and walked away from his seat to lean against a window frame, looking out over the grounds. It was early September now but the trees had already started to turn into different shades of golds and reds and browns. It had been an exceptionally bleak summer.

Narcissa pressed her lips together briefly but then turned to the lawyer once more with a hopeful smile.

"What news of my husband, Mr Goldstein?" Narcissa asked, impatiently ignoring the lawyer's polite enquiries after her health. If Mr Goldstein noticed her rudeness, he didn't acknowledge it.

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Milady, Mr Malfoy. Lord Malfoy's prospects are very bleak indeed," he said, glancing between mother and son.

Narcissa sat down abruptly, only her desire not to lose face in front of a stranger preventing her from collapsing altogether.

"How bad?" she asked quietly.

Goldstein looked at Draco, who steadfastly refused to acknowledge the conversation. His stance seemed casual but the slight stiffening of his shoulders betrayed the tension he was trying to hide

"After yesterday's interrogation under Veritaserum and today's testimonies of the Aurors and victims, I think Lord Malfoy is facing, at the very least, a long sentence in Azkaban."

The young Malfoy's shoulders seemed to loosen, if only just a little.

"Is there nothing we can do? I was not convicted, my son was acquitted. Why can the same leniency not be granted to my husband?"

Narcissa clasped her hands together in her lap, a growing fear making it impossible to keep up her usual calm and indifferent posture.

"There were testimonies that ensured you were acquitted, Milady, as you never took the Dark Lord's mark and there was no evidence that you had partaken in any torture or killing. But your husband is not quite as fortunate. The only thing that might make a difference…" Goldstein hesitated and swallowed, his eyes lingering on the youngest Malfoy's back. "The only thing that might make a difference is Mr Malfoy's testimony," he finished.

Draco Malfoy swivelled around and fixed the lawyer with a level stare.

"Explain."

"Well," Goldstein hummed, wondering how to make his suggestion without incurring the wrath of the young man, "your testimony is on record from your trial, sir, and the Ministry is using it against your father. It presents a number of… charges that the Wizengamot is likely to take very seriously. You may, however, request that it be disregarded, which might have a more positive influence on the trial's outcome."

Draco had started shaking his head before Goldstein had even finished speaking. The lawyer noted with relief that his fingers had not moved towards his wand pocket, and relaxed marginally.

"I have no intention of rescinding my testimony from this trial."

"Draco!"

Narcissa jumped up from the settee and stepped up to her son, her eyes pleading for the mercy she must have known would not be granted. Draco met her eye without flinching, a hint of disdain in his gaze that was quickly hidden behind a mask of impartiality.

"No." His voice was calm, deceptively so.

"But Draco, he's your father… You can't," she implored, grasping one of his arms and squeezing tightly in desperation. Her son remained unsympathetic to her plea and did not even wince at the painful grip she had on him.

"I can and I will. My father must pay for his crimes." He shook her off with an impatient gesture. "He should consider himself lucky he's in Ministry custody or I should not be held accountable for my own actions. I. Will. Not. Rescind."

Goldstein nodded in understanding and could barely conceal his relief. Though he was the Malfoy family lawyer, he'd just as soon never see Lord Malfoy set free again, and taking the younger Malfoy's trial records out of the collected evidence would definitely weaken the case against him.

"Mr Goldstein, you must do something…" Narcissa turned to the lawyer now, her eyes desperately searching for answers he could not give.

"I am sorry, Milady. It is your son's choice."

"No! You cannot do this to me, Draco, please, save your father, save my husband, please."

She was crying now, and Draco could feel his heart constricting painfully at the sight, but he refused to give in to her demands. He squeezed her hands in a comforting gesture, murmuring: "I am sorry to cause you any pain, Mother, but I will not change my mind."

"But he's your _father_ , Draco. Please, reconsider. Withdraw those records."

One last squeeze, then he turned away again and stared out of the windows at the trees once more. Nature comforted him. It could always be depended on to follow the same pattern, and no matter how dark the winter days, spring would always follow. His eyes followed the flight of a robin as he tried to control the storm of emotions in his heart.

"I cannot forgive him. Why should I save him after what he did?"

"He did it to protect you!"

Draco only shook his head, telling himself to remain calm, though it became increasingly difficult in the face of his mother's denial. "He did it to protect himself, Mother."

"No, Draco, you cannot know the danger… You do not understand…"

Draco whirled around, his hands clenched in fists and his eyes blazing in anger he could no longer conceal. His mother took an involuntary step back.

"I understand perfectly well. He put me under the Imperius as soon as he realised I was preparing to join the Light. He kept me under the Imperius for five years. He forced me to take the Mark, he forced me to torture and kill, and when I was not Imperiused, he kept me locked up with as little water and bread as would keep me alive but too weak to try to escape, to serve as a diversion for the other Death Eaters if they wanted to practise their Cruciatus curse. The Imperius does not stop me from remembering, Mother. It does not stop the nightmares or the faces that haunt me or the screams I still hear ringing in my ears. I will never forgive him. He did nothing protect me. He forced me into a War I never wanted to be part of. He can take whatever punishment the Wizengamot sees fit."

Breathing heavily, he stared at her, a sudden comprehension in his eyes.

"You will always choose him. Despite everything he did, you still choose to defend him rather than acknowledge my suffering." His voice was so soft, Narcissa had to strain to hear him. She froze, her eyes widening in horror.

"Draco... " she whispered, reaching out to him, but the look of contempt in his eyes silenced her, and she turned away from him, her head lowered in defeat.

Draco pushed the betrayal away and turned to Goldstein.

"If that is all, I will walk you back to the Floo room," he said, gesturing towards the door. Goldstein inclined his head, and quickly took his leave from Lady Malfoy.

The two men walked silently side by side through the gloomy corridor to the sparsely furnished Floo room. As the lawyer reached out to grab a handful of Floo powder, Draco's cold voice cut through the silence.

"You had better make sure the Wizengamot decides to punish him. I know you are representing him, but I urge you to remember who is more likely to send more business your way after tomorrow."

Goldstein nodded, a tight smile of understanding softening his usually stern face.

"I will be back tomorrow or the day after, when I have news of the verdict. It seems unlikely that the Wizengamot will take longer than a few hours to decide, but one never knows." Then he was gone in a whirl of green flames.

Draco kept staring into the fire until long after the flames had turned golden again. Maybe this nightmare would finally end, after all.

* * *

 _Thank you so much for all the reviews and follows and likes! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, too! Some of you said you didn't know Persuasion, and I really should say go and read it! But I also know Jane Austen isn't always the easiest of writers to read so if you prefer a film, there's a pretty good version filmed in 1995, and another more recent version from 2007 with the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones who is totally my fancast for this Draco because hello man in breeches! Right. Now we've established I'm totally superficial, moving on. B_ _oth films have their merits, though slightly different interpretations of the characters. If you like Regency costume drama I totally recommend both. Watching the movies might spoil the plot a little, though, so if you want a complete surprise, maybe wait until this is finished..._


	3. Sins of the father

**3\. Sins of the father**

Draco had spoken not three words to his mother since his refusal to withdraw the evidence from his own trials. She had chosen not to join him for dinner, and only nodded at him in response to his greeting that morning. He had been out on the grounds all day, trying to escape the stifling prison that Malfoy Manor had become. Sometimes the memories of what had happened there were so vivid he could barely breathe. He walked around the garden, breathing in the crisp autumn air, ignoring the white peacocks that eyed him with mild curiosity, and trying to forget exactly how important today was. Would he be free, finally, or would his father manage to talk himself out of his precarious position yet again?

That sudden thought filled him with such all-consuming fear, he froze in place and remained standing there for so long that one of the peacock chicks ventured closer and closer to him, eventually clambering onto his foot. Only the clucking of the approaching mother peacock snapped him back to reality. He noticed the peacock's angry hisses and glanced down to see a silvery white chick stare up at him. It was such an innocent sight in the gloom that had become his life that he almost laughed and he gently shook his foot to dislodge the chick from his dragonhide boots.

"Off you go, little one," he murmured, "be free and happy. One of us should be."

* * *

Draco and his mother had both chosen to wait for news in the little drawing room, pretending not to notice the glances they each sent to the other. Narcissa kept her hands occupied with needlework and Draco flipped through the pages of an old Potions book without seeing a word. The crackle of the hearth was loud in the tense silence. Draco knew his mother remained silent only to make him speak first as if it was a contest she was determined to win. But he had long outgrown the urge to fill an uncomfortable silence with babble, having learned the hard way not to let such tactics draw him into saying more than he wanted to. And at that moment, he had no desire to say anything.

A house elf popped into the drawing room, the sound of Apparition loud and startling.

"Master Goldstein has arrived, Master."

"Bring him here, Essie," Draco ordered. He noticed his mother's mouth twitch slightly and all but stopped himself from rolling his eyes at her. If she wanted to play a childish control game, she could play it on her own.

The tension in the room seemed to peak as soon as the elf Disapparated. Draco refused to look at his mother and stared at the door instead. His hands clenched and unclenched restlessly, the book discarded on a side table. Before his nerves could get the better of him, the door opened and Goldstein walked in.

"Welcome, Mr. Goldstein. Take a seat, would you care for some refreshments? Tea, coffee or something stronger?"

His mother had risen and fell into the role of gracious hostess without faltering, though her face was as pale as Draco had ever seen it, and her voice trembled slightly.

Draco merely nodded and forced his hands to relax.

"Thank you, milady. Perhaps you have some Elven Wine decanted?"

Draco nodded at Essie, who was still hovering in the doorway, and swallowed. Goldstein's face was neutral but there was a slight twitch near his left eye and Draco was certain the request for alcohol could only mean something had gone wrong. Goldstein never asked for alcohol.

They waited for the elf to pop back into the room, a tray with ruby-coloured wine in a crystal decanter and three glasses wobbling precariously as she carried it towards the coffee table. When she Disapparated, Draco offered to pour the wine, serving Mr. Goldstein before his mother. It was an insult he would never have dared to make in any other situation and clearly conveyed his irritation and anger towards her.

"So…" Draco drawled, staring intently at the wine he was swirling around in his glass. The firelight played interesting tricks on it, he mused absently, sometimes the wine looked almost golden, and at other times as dark as… blood. He blinked and put the glass down with unnecessary force.

Narcissa held her glass in one hand, frozen in her seat. She watched the lawyer, lips pursed, only her too-white knuckles now betraying the impatience with which she waited to hear her husband's fate.

Goldstein sipped his wine, then cleared his throat delicately.

"The Wizengamot judged today in Lord Malfoy's trial. The verdict was unanimous."

"What did they decide?" Draco asked through clenched teeth when the lawyer hesitated a little too long.

"Lord Malfoy was found guilty on all charges. He was sentenced to… the Kiss."

Draco blinked, unsure of what he ought to feel. An image of Lucius Malfoy teaching him to fly on his first broom came to mind unbidden, and his heart clenched for the father he had lost. At the same time, he felt like a burden was lifted off his shoulders. His father would be punished for his crimes, and this time he would be unable to come back. He was free. Free to live the life he wanted. No more interference.

A gasp broke the silence, and Draco glanced at his mother. She clutched at her chest as if the news had torn her heart out. He did feel sorry for her, knowing she had loved her husband deeply, loved him still despite his actions during the War. The stem of the glass she held shattered in her grip, the wine spilling onto her robes and the carpet.

"No! No, no, no! Not the Kiss! Please no!"

Narcissa's whispers grew louder and louder until Draco jumped up and walked over to her.

"Mother…"

She started crying, quiet little sobs that pierced his heart more sharply than loud wails ever would.

"Come, Mother, let me take you to your room."

He helped her up and guided her out of the room.

"I will be right back," he said to Goldstein before he closed the door behind them.

* * *

He took a bracing breath before he entered the drawing room again, some time later.

"How is Lady Malfoy?" Goldstein asked.

"I gave her a Calming Potion and a Dreamless Sleep Potion. It seemed prudent."

"I see."

The lawyer stared intently at the young Malfoy, who seated himself before him with his usual poise.

"I'm afraid I have more bad news."

Draco cocked his head, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, was this news so bad then?

"There is more to the sentence. Lucius Malfoy will receive the Kiss, in a week's time. You and your mother will be allowed to visit him until then, but you will not be allowed to be present when… when the time comes."

Draco nodded, though he had no intention to visit his father. It might give his mother some comfort.

"My mother will appreciate the chance to say goodbye, I'm sure."

Goldstein sipped his wine again - it really was excellent wine - and took a deep breath before explaining the other part of Lucius Malfoy's sentence.

"The Wizengamot has also stripped your family from their title and has decreed the Malfoy possessions forfeit. This includes the Malfoy vault in Gringotts, the businesses, the houses… I'm sorry. I tried to argue against it, but the Wizengamot would not be swayed."

Draco swallowed hard. That was… unexpected. His mind was reeling. Losing the Manor? No more Malfoy fortune to fall back on? Where would he live? What would he do?

"I should point out that the Wizengamot did not say that the Ministry could confiscate all possessions belonging to the House of Malfoy." Goldstein allowed himself a thin smile. "They only mentioned Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire and the house in London. They also only specified the Malfoy vault at Gringotts in London, so your personal vaults are safe, and any properties and vaults abroad… I saw no need to bring those to their attention."

Draco didn't quite return the smile, but one corner of his mouth turned up in appreciation, and the whirlwind of panicked thoughts quieted down a little. Losing the main vault was a setback, of course, but the Malfoys still had some assets in various other countries. If only the English Gringotts vault was mentioned in the verdict, then he and his mother would still be able to live comfortably enough, if not quite in the lavish circumstances to which she was accustomed. Losing the title was a slight he barely felt. He had no use for the false respectability it had accorded his family in the past.

"The verdict was pronounced only an hour ago, so I have no further particulars. I know the vault was closed immediately, but I don't know when they will ask you to leave the house. I am meeting with Ministry representatives tomorrow. I'll try to ensure you can take some personal belongings from the vault, as I believe your mother kept some of her own jewellery in there, and I hope I can give you time to find a new place to live, but…"

Goldstein pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stalling.

"You must understand, Mr. Malfoy, that this verdict is meant to punish you and your mother as much as it is intended to humiliate your father before he loses his soul. Many people resent you and Lady Malfoy for escaping conviction during your trials, and evicting you from your home with barely the clothes on your back is just the kind of punishment they would love to see. It would be extremely humiliating for Lucius, too, to know that he was the one who lost his wife and son the title and ancestral estate, with no access to the old vaults, right before he is Kissed."

Draco still opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. His mind had barely begun to comprehend that he and his mother would soon be homeless - well, in this country at least - and now his lawyer informed him that the public wanted to see them suffer despite their acquittal? Clearly he had lived too sheltered a life since his trial. A sharp and bitter laugh escaped involuntarily.

"So even in his soulless state he'll manage to screw up my life," he muttered.

The bitterness in his voice didn't shock the lawyer. After the pensieve memories he'd seen, he knew the young Malfoy had reasons enough to be angry at his father.

"Maybe you could see it as a chance to start again," he suggested. His voice now had lost the impersonal tone he'd used to announce the verdict, sounding more gentle. After all, he had a son of his own of that age, and he couldn't help but feel for Draco Malfoy.

"Find an occupation, maybe, build a new life. Maybe move abroad, to France or Italy, where the War didn't touch the Wizarding communities and the Malfoy name may still hold some clout. Or find a new purpose here, I know the Minister would help you in any profession you may want to take up and make sure you are given a second chance. Not that it would be easy, it's still too soon for people to forget. But once Lucius is gone, maybe they will be more inclined to move on. You do have options, Draco."

Draco was startled by the use of his first name, wondering when they had come to such familiar terms, but shrugged it off, realising Goldstein was trying to help him get his thoughts in order.

"I will discuss this with my mother tomorrow. I assume we'll have at least a day or so to get used to the idea?"

Goldstein nodded. "I'm sure I can negotiate reasonable terms with the Ministry and ensure you have time to make arrangements. After all, the Ministry acts only as swiftly as the triplicate paperwork gets through the appropriate channels. I will owl you as soon as I have more news. Is there anything else I can do for you right now, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco only shook his head, his hands cupping his wine glass, staring but unseeing.

"In that case, I will leave you now. I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco only barely refrained from snorting. He rose, shook Goldstein's hand and went through all the motions of a gracious host sending a guest home, but his mind was elsewhere. So much for freedom. His father may soon no longer have a hold over him, but the Wizengamot verdict ensured he would still pay the price for his father's sins. Curse the man to Hell and back.

* * *

Draco hardly slept that night. He did not look forward to telling his mother they would lose the Manor, their money and their income. But, come morning, he knew he could not put it off and the communication had to be made. He joined her at breakfast, absently noting the dreamless sleep potion must have done her good. She looked her usual calm self, if a little paler.

"Good morning, Mother."

"Draco."

He poured coffee into his cup, and waited for his meal to appear before him.

"I hope you made my excuses to Mr. Goldstein yesterday," his mother said.

"I'm sure he expected some kind of reaction, Mother, considering the news he brought."

"I hope we shall be granted an opportunity to say goodbye?"

Her voice trembled slightly, and Draco thought he only noticed because he was listening for it.

"Goldstein said we can visit, but we can't be there when…"

Draco sighed. Much as he hated his father, he couldn't bring himself to say those words aloud in front of his mother.

"I see."

Narcissa turned back to the fruit on her plate, moving her fork around but never eating.

"There is more," Draco said quietly, staring intently at his own plate. The eggs were fluffy and just the right consistency, but the smell seemed to turn his stomach.

Narcissa's head snapped up and her eyes fixed on her son.

"The Wizengamot has declared the Malfoy possessions forfeit. They have already confiscated the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. They will take the businesses. We will be evicted from the Manor."

A loud clank told him Narcissa had dropped her fork on the plate, but when he looked up at her, her face betrayed no emotion.

"Goldstein is negotiating with the Ministry today, he will try to give us some time to make plans, but I think we should prepare to leave immediately. The public was not content to see either of us pardoned at our trials, and the Wizengamot was all too happy to listen to their clamour for justice. The judgement passed on Lucius will not have an impact on him alone. We are meant to lose everything. Our home, our income, our status… Complete humiliation."

Draco paused, then smirked, but the amusement did not quite reach his eyes.

"Of course they were a little careless in the formulation of the verdict. We still have our personal vaults, and they cannot touch our foreign assets. The humiliation they envisaged will not be quite as complete as they pictured. But we may not be able to draw on those foreign funds for a while, to make sure they do not suddenly remember to include it in an amended verdict. We may have to retrench, at least for a while..."

Draco's eyes wandered around the dining room, the long mahogany table with enough space for twenty guests, the gild-framed paintings on the walls, the rich silver curtains and the pale green silk covering the walls. Yes, he thought, they would have to scale back considerably without the Malfoy fortune. He was unsure about the state of their French vaults, and though they were by no means poor, their income would be severely reduced.

"What are our options?" Narcissa's question brought his attention back to his mother, and he glanced at her before answering.

"We could find a smaller house somewhere in a wizarding village, and live quietly. I went over the bank statements of our personal vaults yesterday and we could live comfortably for a while with that money. I might find an occupation to add to our income, if anyone would ever consider employing me," Draco began, ticking the options off on his fingers.

"We can also move abroad, go somewhere the War didn't have such an influence and build a new life for ourselves. I'm sure the Ministry will let us go now Lucius' trial has ended. Those are our choices now. I cannot think of any other course of action."

"We are not running away," Narcissa seethed.

"A small cottage somewhere on a small budget it is, then, for you at least," Draco responded laconically.

"What about you? Do you want to leave England? Leave your home and heritage behind?"

Draco stood up, pushing his untouched plate away.

"I have not yet decided what to do. I honestly no longer care about this house, or my heritage. The house has nothing but bad memories and I will be glad to leave it behind."

"But it's our home, Draco, you can't let this happen without a fight!" Narcissa exclaimed, an edge of panic to her tone.

"I can and I will. I'd be glad if I never have to lay eyes on this place again. I could live happily anywhere knowing that I will never again walk into a room and be assaulted by the memories of tortured Muggles, that horrid snake or the Dark Lord presiding over his gatherings." Draco suppressed a shudder and started towards the door.

"Oh Draco! What would your father…"

"I lost my father five years ago," Draco snapped. "The man who was sentenced yesterday might as well have been a stranger. I could care less about him or what he thinks or expects."

"And will you tell him that when you visit?"

Narcissa was also standing now, her voice a dangerous whisper.

"I have no intention of telling him anything, as I won't be visiting. Go see him if you want, Mother, I have nothing to say to him."

At those words, he turned around and stalked out of the breakfast room, his shoulders stiff and hands clenched in fists.

Narcissa sagged back into her chair, her mask of composure shattering into helpless tears.

* * *

Zacharias Goldstein was back at the Manor sooner than even he had expected. The Ministry officials had already made their decisions and none of his arguments had changed their minds.

"More bad news, Mr. Goldstein?" Draco enquired, as he gestured for the other man to take a seat.

"Just clarifications, sir, milady," Goldstein responded, a twitch at his left eye betraying his nerves.

"So when are we to leave Malfoy Manor? Pray tell, Mr. Goldstein, there is no need to delay the inevitable."

Draco hated the uncertainty of not knowing, and he hoped whatever Goldstein had to tell them would help him decide what he wanted to do next. He had no desire to live the life of a country gentleman alongside his mother, pretending nothing had changed.

"You will have to leave on the day Lord Malfoy receives the Kiss. Next Friday. The Aurors will check whatever belongings you want to take. They want to make sure no Dark Objects leave the premises. Your Ladyship will be allowed to take your personal jewels from the Malfoy vault, as I understand some of the jewels came from the Black line?"

Narcissa merely inclined her head in assent. Although her eyes were still slightly red and worry lines creased her brow, she kept her composure throughout the lawyer's explanation.

"The Manor will be gifted to one of the Aurors who has proven himself during the War," he continued, carefully omitting the name he knew would cause trouble. "The content of the vaults will be used for rebuilding our society."

"Who?"

Goldstein swallowed, and refused to look at Draco while he responded to the question.

"Auror Potter, I believe."

"Harry Potter?"

"That's the one."

Draco let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, he must enjoy that. First taking my whole family into custody, now receiving the ancestral home of his arch enemy in recompense for his actions during the War... They have a strange sense of humour at the Ministry."

"I believe he and Auror Weasley are charged with removing all traces of Dark magic, but the property will ultimately be given to Auror Potter."

"No! I will not have blood traitors and mudbloods spoiling the halls of my home!" Narcissa exclaimed.

"Mother, there is not much we can do. And you forget, those blood traitors and muggleborns won the War. We're nothing now. We lost. We lost everything."

"I will not accept this," Narcissa repeated, her voice now cold and determined.

Goldstein cleared his throat.

"Your Ladyship may want to consider not using such terms in public," he admonished gently, straightening his cuffs to avoid looking at her. "I have one more message," he continued, before Narcissa could object. "You have permission to visit Lord Malfoy every day from now until next Friday. You will not be permitted to attend the execution, but you may be with him until just before that moment. There is no restriction on the time you spend together, but you are, of course, not permitted to stay outside visiting hours."

"Is that it, then?" Draco asked.

"I believe so, Mr. Malfoy. Unless you have anything else to discuss with me, I will take my leave."

Draco dismissed the lawyer with an impatient hand gesture, leaving it to his mother to say a proper goodbye to their guest.

As soon as the lawyer had gone, Narcissa spat, "The Weasleys! Potter! Those blood traitors! I will not stand for it. I will not have the halls of Malfoy Manor contaminated by those Mudblood lovers! I…"

Narcissa's mouth kept moving for a few seconds more before she realised she had been silenced. She glared at her son, who was still pointing his wand at her.

"You will do well to remember who won the War, Mother. Such language may get you into Azkaban yet. Perhaps you want to join your husband after all? I'll also remind you that in less than a week, I will be the head of this pathetic family, and I forbid you to do anything to make the Potters' stay in this house difficult. No hexing the rooms or furniture. No cursing the doors or gardens. The house is no longer ours, the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move on. The Malfoy name is no longer what it once was. We are despised and ridiculed. We are spat upon by the society that once trembled in awe when we entered a room. We are nothing. Charity cases, objects of pity to those who were once our equals. And the only ones to blame are yourself and Lucius. You know this. You know it's true. Had I had the chance, I would have taken a different path. But it is what it is. We need to deal with this world, as it is now, a world where blood status and heritage matter less than character and virtue." He paused, his eyes flicking over his mother, who had flushed bright red, whether from anger or the effort to reverse the spell, he could not say. "I wonder how you will measure up in this brave new world."

He left the room, removing the silencing spell with a quick flick of his wand. His mother's outraged screams followed him until he closed the door to his bedroom. He collapsed onto the window seat and hugged his knees to his chest as he looked out over the grounds, murmuring to himself.

"Will _she_ come with them? Will she think of me when she walks these gardens? Or has she banished all thoughts of me from her mind? Can she ever forgive me?"


	4. Hindsight

**A.N.** _I've not been as consistent about updating this one as I would like, but it has been a hell of a few weeks. I'm sorry about that. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter as I've been struggling with the tenses. This one takes place about 6 years before the main timeline, but if I put everything in past perfect tense it just reads so awkwardly. So yeah, this chapter explains what really happened before and will, I think, explain Draco's motivations a little better._

 _No Beta so any mistakes are my own. I'm so happy with the reviews, follows and favourites this story has already received. And I'd like to say a sp_ _ecial thanks to all my reviewers - I'm sorry if I didn't respond to you personally but please know your kind words are much appreciated and have been a great comfort in these crazy weeks._

* * *

 **4\. Hindsight**

 _She_ was, strange as it may seem, Hermione Granger, the best friend of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, and often considered the brightest witch to have graced the halls of Hogwarts since Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and, six years ago, she and Draco had been very close.

Miss Granger had been brought into the Wizarding community by the Potters, who took her in when her accidental magic had almost caused her Muggle parents to exorcise her. The Department for the Protection of Magical Children had intervened, as they always did when Magical children were at risk, and found a home for her with the Potters, who brought her up and treated her much like they would have their own daughter. Draco later learned they had offered to formally adopt her, but she had declined, not wanting to give up her last link to the Muggle parents she still loved very much.

She was the best student of their year at school, and though Draco himself was a very deserving second, he never managed to best her, except in Potions, and he knew _that_ was only because Professor Snape despised the Gryffindor witch. Miss Granger took the same courses he did and, especially in the later years, they were often paired up for assignments. They had fought, of course. Constantly, at first. Draco had offered Harry Potter the hand of friendship, but had been spurned and the rejection stung. They'd become rivals, always competing and never relenting. The feud was carried on by Hermione Granger, who was loyal to a fault to the family who had taken her in. But somewhere between the insults and hexes, Draco had come to look forward to their verbal sparring during joint assignments.

Some time during their last year at Hogwarts, he realised he had fallen in love with her, but he refused to act on his feelings, as there had been rumours of an understanding between her and the youngest Weasley boy. Though no formal announcement had been made, it was clear Potter favoured the match, and Draco believed her to be all but engaged. He'd been wrong.

One night, not long before the Christmas break, something changed. Sitting in the little alcove in the library that they had quickly come to consider _their_ working space, bent over yet another Arithmancy assignment, he'd been staring at her, mesmerised by the soft glow the candle light gave her skin, the many shades of brown and gold in her curls, and the way she nibbled on her quill before writing down the next step in the equation with a flourish. She'd caught his gaze and blushed but she did not look away. He did, though, unable to look into those beautiful brown eyes any longer, fiddling with his parchment, pretending to write out his answers. He thought he heard her sigh but refused to look up, even as she seemed to be gathering her things and stood up. He waited with baited breath until her footsteps would take her from the Library, but instead he suddenly felt her breath on his ear and the tickle of her long curls on his cheek.

"Are you ever going to just give in, Draco?" she whispered. He froze, hardly believing what he heard, unable to think about what it might mean, the sound of his first name on her lips echoing in his head. When he didn't move, she sighed again and walked away. He inhaled sharply as if only then remembering to breathe, and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her shoulders sagged, her head turned down, she looked defeated. And he moved without thinking, was walking up behind her and grabbing her wrist before he realised he'd gotten up from his seat. She froze in place, her head lifting in surprise. He turned her around and slid her bag from her shoulder, placing it on the floor. He looked at her face, trying to read the emotions, fearing mockery and rejection, but only seeing blazing hope.

When he pressed his lips to hers, he could feel the fire running through his veins like magic. And somewhere, in a small, far corner of his brain that was unaffected by the feel of Hermione Granger's mouth moving against his, he knew he'd never forget that first kiss.

They had kept their relationship secret, at first not ready to share those private feelings with their friends, and then reluctant to do so, as the Gryffindors never warmed to Draco, and the Slytherins still despised Hermione. It just seemed easier to keep it to themselves, especially with a war looming outside the safe confines of Hogwarts.

By the time their last year was coming to an end, they knew they wanted to face the world after Hogwarts together. At their last Hogsmeade visit, Draco told Hermione he could not spend the day with her.

"I need to go home," he'd said, "but when I come back, I'll have a question for you."

They locked eyes and she swallowed and blushed prettily.

"I think you know what I want to ask, Hermione. You know I love you, and I want to be by your side, come what may," he said softly. He'd never forget the happiness that had spread over her face, the light in her eyes and the beaming smile on her face.

"I'll give you my answer when you ask me your question," she'd whispered, before kissing him passionately. Little did he know then that it would be their last kiss.

That day, that fateful day, he had apparated home, to Malfoy Manor, to ask his parents for the Malfoy engagement ring from the family vaults. His father was away from home at the time, but his mother was there. She had been thrilled, of course, when he asked for the ring, until she'd heard the girl's name.

"Granger? I don't think I know a Granger family." Her face only displayed mild curiosity, masking how horrified she really felt.

"She's the daughter of two d... healers. She is the most intelligent witch I've ever met. She is kind and generous, she loves reading and hates flying, and she's absurdly fond of her terror of a half-Kneazle. She's amazing and I love her, Mother. I want to marry her."

"Healers, you say? I'm sure I never heard of healers by the name of Granger."

"They are both very successful Muggle healers, Mother," he said, his eyes narrowing and his chin thrust up in defiance.

Lady Malfoy had shaken her head, her eyes wide with surprise and her mouth forming a perfect O. After a moment of tense silence, she said, "Draco, you can't possibly think your father would accept this? The Malfoy line has been pure for centuries, how can you even consider marrying a Mudblood?"

"Don't call her that!"

Draco had almost drawn his wand at his own mother, but he refrained himself, barely. Narcissa paused and observed the emotions her son failed to hide.

"You really care for the girl, then?" she said quietly. Draco only nodded.

Narcissa then hugged her son, and murmured in his ear, "Have you really thought this through, darling? If she is your choice, of course we would accept it…"

"Really, Mother?" He was a little suspicious of her sudden change, but he wanted, needed to hear those words, unsure how he would have been able to handle his parents' rejection, and he let her words soothe his worry away.

"Of course," she confirmed, tightening her arms slightly before letting go of him.

"But darling, at this time? You are no fool, Draco. You know what the situation is like. Your father has only just been released and has publicly declared his neutrality. The Dark Lord's support is growing. There are new attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns daily. It is such an uncertain time, my dear. Consider the danger you would be putting her in, singling her out as the fiancée to the heir of the powerful House of Malfoy. She would become a target… Draco, do you really want that?" She paused, her voice soft and hypnotic. "Do you really want to risk that? You were in Hogwarts this past year, where life is safe and you are far away from the reality we all live in, out here. Something dangerous is brewing, Draco. Tensions are running high at the Ministry and your father is convinced it will collapse at the slightest sign of trouble, and then they will be unable to continue to give what little protection they can give to those that are most vulnerable… such as the Muggleborns who have no family in our World. Draco…" Narcissa's face showed concern and her hands fluttered nervously, betraying her unease and fear. "My darling, if the wrong people find out how close you are, she… Oh, it doesn't bear thinking of!" She clutched her hands to her chest in a dramatic - and effective - pose.

Draco reeled back in horror, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as his imagination created an onslaught of scenarios, one more horrific than the next.

"What… What do you suggest then, Mother?" His voice croaked with barely suppressed emotion. His mother then stepped closer to him and put a comforting hand on his upper arm, her wide eyes searching his face as her own softened in consideration.

"I cannot tell you what is best, my dear Son, but maybe you should just wait a little. Keep your distance for a while, see how this whole situation pans out… If the Ministry manages to suppress this rebellion, she will be safe and free. Surely if she loves you as much as you love her, she will wait for you," Narcissa said softly, with just the right amount of hesitation. She then walked out of the room, leaving Draco to mull over everything she'd said.

Draco had been stunned. Seventeen years of knowing his mother should have taught him what she was doing, but all rational thought had been abandoned in fear and concern for the woman he loved. He'd never considered he could be putting a target on Hermione's back by proclaiming their relationship in public. He knew the situation was bad, but he hadn't realised how bad exactly. It was true Hogwarts was a safe haven, and life would be different after they left school. Could he really put Hermione in such danger? Those idiotic blood supremacists would never accept a Malfoy marrying a Muggleborn. It did not bear thinking of what they would do to her.

When his mother returned and dropped the ring in his hand, he stared at it in silence for a very long time. Then, without a word, he gave the ring back to his mother and Disapparated to Hogsmeade.

* * *

He managed to avoid Hermione for a few days, hiding behind the preparations for the graduation ceremony, but inevitably the day came that she would find him alone. He was seated against a boulder at the edge of the Black Lake, shielded from wind and prying eyes. It was a favourite spot of theirs. When he looked up at her, seeing the warmth and love in her eyes, and that smile that was just a fraction wider for him than for anyone else, he felt his resolve weaken. He did love her, so much. But that was why he had to do everything he could to keep her safe.

"Draco, what are you doing here? I've been looking for you." She smiled as she sat down next to him, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek after casting a quick notice-me-not spell.

Draco had to open his mouth several times before he could make the words come out.

"Hermione, we need to talk…"

He interlaced his fingers with hers and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. She blushed and smiled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She'd known he'd been home. She'd remembered his promise. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

"Draco…"

"No, please, don't… don't speak right now. This is difficult enough as it is."

He would not meet her eyes, but noticed that she bit her lip now, and her eyes had slowly moved away from his face to stare out over the lake.

"Hermione, you know what I feel for you. You know that these past few months have been the happiest of my life and I would give anything to continue after we leave here…" He looked at their intertwined hands and missed the first tears gliding down her cheeks until they dropped down onto her white gloves, leaving a dark, wet mark behind. The words had refused to leave his mouth until he forced them out in a rushed whisper.

"I can't see you any more."

He might as well have shouted it at the top of his voice. Hermione froze next to him, her back stiffening, hardly breathing as the words she had not expected to hear drifted away over the lake, never to be unspoken.

"What?" She sounded shaken and pained, and Draco had almost lost the courage to go on, but he remembered his mother's words and continued anyway.

"It's not safe out there, Hermione. Attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns. And you and me together… We just can't, Hermione. Not with everything that is happening, it's too dangerous. I..."

He never had the chance to finish the speech he'd been rehearsing in his head for two sleepless nights. She slapped him so hard the sound had echoed in his head for what seemed like forever. Then she jumped up and left.

"I only want to keep you safe…" Draco whispered after her, gingerly touching his cheek and fighting his tears as he watched her walk away without a word.

It was the last he'd seen of her. She had not even attended the graduation ceremony, and the Ministry had fallen the next day. They were at war.

* * *

Draco had no memory of the first few weeks after leaving Hogwarts. His family had travelled to the summer estate in France for the beginning of summer. He had kept to his room and only occasionally joined his parents for dinner. He lived in a constant state of fear, wondering where she was, how she was doing, if she was in danger. But her name never showed up in the lists of victims published by the Daily Prophet, so he was fairly confident that she was safe. He had believed - hoped - she had gone into hiding, and told himself that trying to contact her would only get her into danger.

But then came the fateful night that would seal his fate. He'd gone down to have dinner with his parents, but the dining room was still empty and he had realised he must have been too early, so he walked towards the library, where he could hear his parents' voices. The door was ajar, and he had been just about to knock and enter when he heard his name.

"We can't keep Draco away, Narcissa, his presence has been requested at our gatherings" his father had said.

"Lucius, you'll never convince him. He won't take the Mark, and he won't follow the Dark Lord. I know he won't."

Draco froze outside the door, his fingers hovering just inches away from the door knob.

"The Dark Lord knows our family is loyal. Draco will present himself this Sunday and he will take the Mark. He knows what is due to the Malfoy name."

Draco barely managed to suppress a gasp. His father had maintained his neutrality in public, but it suddenly became clear that his loyalty had never faltered. He had been so preoccupied with his own misery that he had not paid that much attention to his parents' conversations. The implications of this new reality were horrifying.

"I wish you would delay dragging him into this, Lucius. He's so young."

"He's an adult and he can take up the responsibilities of the heir to the House of Malfoy. It's an honour, Narcissa," another voice said, and Draco, to his horror, recognised his aunt Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange, who was one of the Dark Lord's staunchest supporters, was in his house, was talking to his parents, wanted him to join that depraved band of bloodthirsty maniacs...

Draco turned around and fled to the dining room, shaken by the conversation he had heard and needing to take a moment to compose his face and suppress the maelstrom of thoughts in his brain. When his parents finally joined him, his mask of indifference was firmly in place. He managed to get through dinner with bland smiles and distant responses, which he hoped were not very different from the past few weeks. His parents had seemed to notice nothing amiss, too preoccupied with their own conversation, which had turned to the next social gathering his mother was hoping to host. He made his excuses as soon as he could without vexing his parents and returned to his room, where he cast the most complicated locking and privacy charms he knew.

Pacing his bedroom, he tried - and for a long time, failed - to get his thoughts in order. His father was still a Death Eater, was still killing Muggleborns and torturing Muggles. He would be taken to the Dark Lord to receive the Mark soon. His crazy Aunt, wanted by the Ministry for crimes so horrific it made his blood run cold, was in the house and his parents had not told him. He had to get away, but where to? Then Draco remembered Blaise Zabini, one of his best friends in Slytherin. He was neutral, truly neutral, and he might be able to help. Blaise had put his family's estate under the Fidelius charm and told Draco about the location, but Draco knew he could not simply apparate without tripping any number of protective wards. He considered his options, and eventually penned a note to Blaise, hoping his owl would still be able to reach him.

 _I need to disappear. Meet me at our usual place, Saturday Midnight. Please._

Then he cast a spell to change the text into a list of potions ingredients, ending with dragon blood. He knew Blaise would recognise his handwriting and decipher the code. He sent the owl around 3 in the morning, thinking it was the best time to make sure everybody remained unaware of his actions. He could only hope the owl would return before anyone knew she was missing. Draco finally fell into a fitful sleep, only to be rudely awakened by being thrown into a wall.

His aunt was standing over him, her wand trained on Draco, a note clutched in her other hand. She cackled at his confusion and dragged her wand slowly along his neckline.

"Ickly Draco all grown up. Did you really think you could get away?"

The singsong tone of her voice made Draco sick to his stomach, but he had managed to only blink and keep his face confused and pained from the impact on the wall. His mind reeled. He noticed his parents had appeared in the bedroom, and his father stopped his mother from coming in. Then Bellatrix hissed another spell that slowly started constricting his throat.

"Aunt Bella, what are you doing? Father..." he gasped, blushing, mortified at the squeaking sound of his own voice, and desperately trying to buy himself time or an opportunity to regain his wand.

"Do you take me for a fool, Draco? What is the meaning of this note?"

Lucius stepped into the room, after a meaningful look towards his wife warning her not to interfere, and took the note from his sister-in-law. He read the few lines in silence. Bellatrix came closer, her face only inches from Draco's, whose lungs were burning with the need to breathe.

"Tell me" she whispered.

Draco felt the magic that had almost strangled him retreat and swallowed painfully. He glanced at the note, trying to conceal the fear that coursed through him. He had never before seen his aunt so angry, so fearsome, so unhinged. But what scared him most was the look on his father's face - confusion and curiosity, but with no intention of stepping in just yet. He answered, in the most steady tone he could muster, "It's a list of potions ingredients, Aunt Bella."

The punch seemed to come out of nowhere and Draco crumpled back against the wall.

"So you _do_ take me for a fool," his Aunt said coldly and with a quick flick of her wand the words on the parchment wriggled and looped and turned into the note Draco had written. His father's face paled and the confusion made way for anger - and fear. Draco knew then that he had lost.

"Did you think you could send such a note disguised with such a poor encryption spell? You must think me either very stupid or very careless, Son." Lucius contemplated him for a moment, then bent lower to hiss into his son's ear. "So which is it, Draco? Stupid, or careless?"

Draco closed his eyes and realised he had no idea how to get out of this mess. His wand was near his bed, on the other side of the room. Nobody in this house would disobey his father and help him. He might as well… He opened his eyes again, defiance glittering in the icy glare he sent his father.

"Both, I daresay, if you thought I would follow in your Death Eater footsteps to serve that madman."

He almost shuddered at the little smile that curved his aunt's lips but refused to show any signs of weakness.

"You dare disparage the Dark Lord? You should know better than to talk back, little Nephew. You should know better than to disobey your parents." Aunt Bellatrix cackled again, her wand twirling languidly in her fingers.

Draco just kept glaring at his father, and was unprepared for his Aunt's next words.

"Crucio."

The pain was everywhere. It felt like thousands of needles stabbing through his skin repeatedly, his limbs twisting and turning, his bones writhing and thrashing. He was dimly aware of loud screeching ringing in his ears, and only realised it had been his own screams when his Aunt lifted the curse and his body had stopped spasming. Every breath burnt his lungs and he could barely make out his Father's voice.

"Who did you send this to, Draco." Lucius' tone was almost conversational, as if he had not just witnessed his sister-in-law torture his own son, and allowed it. Draco tried to speak but spluttered blood instead. It was only then he realised he had bitten the inside of his cheek so hard he was bleeding. He coughed, then stared up at his father.

"Damn you," he spat, gingerly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Lucius only shook his head and glanced at Bellatrix.

"Crucio."

The pain was a hundred times worse than before. Draco twisted in the air, consumed by the pain that seemed to pervade every cell in his body, howling in agony until his voice broke and his head was thrashing around in a soundless cry. He could feel the darkness clawing at the edges of his consciousness and tried to give in but his Aunt ended the curse just before the blackness could claim him.

"Who did you send this to, Draco," his Father repeated softly.

Draco panted, drawing in breath with painful gasps, his mind too warbled to make any sense of what his father was saying. The curse was lifted now but the memory lingered in his muscles, his whole body convulsing with aftershocks.

"Tell me," Lucius urged, and Draco blinked up at him, lucidity slowly returning. Then, with an effort, he spat at his father, splattering drops of blood on his father's robes.

This time, the crucio wasn't a surprise. His agonized body could not withstand the third onslaught for long, and the merciful darkness overtook him. The last thought on his mind was Hermione.

* * *

When he woke up, he was lying in his bed, and the room showed no sign of the struggle that had gone on there the night before. His mother sat next to his bed, reading, though she looked up when he moved his hand around reaching for his wand.

"Your father only wants what is best for our family. Do not defy him again, Draco," was all she said, before she got up and walked out of the room.

Draco blinked, stunned, then searched again for his wand. But it wasn't where he'd left it, on the nightstand next to his bed. It wasn't under his pillow either.

Just as he was about to get up and see if his wand had rolled under his bed, his Father entered his room.

"Looking for something?"

Draco refused to answer but drew in a sharp breath when he realised his father was holding two wands. He decided not to say anything and see where this confrontation would lead. His body was still sore from the cruciatus curse, his muscles humming in agony with every breath and movement, and his throat felt like dry sand.

"Will you follow me to the Dark Lord tomorrow and pledge your allegiance?"

Draco shook his head resolutely.

A flash of rage distorted Lucius Malfoy's face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had come.

"Oh but you will, Draco. You have to. I will not allow you to discredit us and lower our family in His esteem. Your alliance with the Dark Lord will keep us safe and in his favour. And if you do not obey me willingly, it will be unwilling. But you _will_ obey."

Draco shook his head again, which is why he was unprepared when his father flicked his wand and murmured "Imperio" for the first time. He would hear it again often in the long five years that followed, never completely free until the Aurors finally captured his Father and snapped his wand.


	5. Old friendships

**5\. Old friendships**

"Mistress Narcissa be sitting in Floo room, Master."

Draco looked up from the sheaf of parchment he had been sorting through. He was looking for a house for him and his mother and, after some inquiries with Mr. Goldstein, he had received an owl with available properties. Either the houses were nothing but ruins or the price was exorbitantly high. He had a feeling those prices and the quality of the properties on offer had gone up and down respectively as soon as people knew they might be doing business with the Malfoys. He'd have to settle for something, though, they were to leave the house in a few days. How the mighty had fallen.

"What was that, Essie?"

"Mistress be arriving in Floo room two hours ago, Master, Mistress just sitting."

Essie twisted her ears in distress and Draco realised the elves must be seriously worried.

"I'll go to her now, Essie. Burn these, please," he said, gesturing at the parchments.

He found his mother on the settee in the Floo room, staring at the flames in the hearth, hands clasped in her lap. She was still wearing her pelisse, though the fire made the room almost uncomfortably hot. Mud streaked the front of her dress. She looked pale and small. He sat down next to her, gently placing one hand over hers, and waited.

"I went to Diagon Alley today after visiting your Father," Narcissa said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

Draco squeezed her hands to encourage her to continue.

"I needed some ingredients for calming draughts and wanted to buy a new potions book that had just been published. I wouldn't have gone otherwise." She sighed and suppressed a shudder. Draco refrained from chastising her for such frivolous expenses in a time where every galleon, every sickle would have to stretch further than ever.

"They wouldn't serve me, Draco," she whispered. "The shopkeepers ignored me. The girl at Flourish & Blotts pretended I was not even there, she looked through me as if I was just empty space. She refused to take my book, refused to take my money, and then she started making loud comments about Death Eater whores and…"

Narcissa's voice broke, and she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"The stares, Draco, the whispers… Someone spat at me. Someone shot a tripping jinx at me and I fell in the mud and they just laughed. Nobody offered to help me up. They hate us."

"I know." It was all he could say, he knew it was true and he knew there was not much he could do to change it. His face was set in a grim mask, but his hands were gentle as he embraced his mother. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Mother."

They sat together in silence for a long time, Narcissa finally understanding the consequences of being on the wrong side of a war for the first time and struggling to come to terms with it, Draco wondering how much more misery his father's actions would bring on their heads.

"I wish you wouldn't visit him, Mother," he murmured.

Narcissa sighed and shook her head.

"I know. But he is my husband and I will do my duty by him. Not a word Draco," she said quickly at his sharp intake of breath. "I will not ask again that you visit him, even though he asks for you every day. I assure you I do not condone his actions, and I'm sorry, so sorry I could do nothing to save you. But these are his last days and I just... I cannot refuse to visit him. Two more days. I owe him two more days."

"You owe him nothing. Not after all he did to us." Draco said harshly.

"He did an awful lot of bad things, that is true. But he did give me you, as well, Draco, and for that alone I cannot abandon him now. It will all be over soon enough."

* * *

"I think we should leave England," Narcissa said that evening at dinner. Draco paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looked at her.

"You said you wanted to stay," he said calmly, as he placed his fork back on his plate.

"I've changed my mind."

"Where would we go?"

"We still have the summer estate in France. We could live comfortably there, since we have sufficient income from the French investments. As I understood, the Wizengamot only claimed our English vaults, have they not? So we can leave. Move to a country where we still have some standing. Where the people won't spit at us or call us names in public. Our role in the War has no consequences there. And there are many upstanding, traditional families we can associate with on the Continent, Draco. Please, let's move to France."

Draco just looked at her. When the idea had first been suggested to him by Goldstein, he'd thought it was a good solution. But the Chateau overlooking the Lot held other memories for him. It was the place where he had been taken after his Father's incarceration at the end of his Fifth year at Hogwarts. It was where he'd made his first Muggle-born friends, changing the way he thought about bloodlines and purity. It was where he'd been tortured by his Father and put under the Imperius curse the first time. A weight settled on his chest and it became hard to breathe.

"Why the summer estate? Surely the house in Paris would be more convenient?"

"Paris is fine for winter, dear, but it's only September. The summer estate is so much more convenient now, it is the winemaking season, after all. The vineyard will keep us busy while we settle and connect with the right people."

Narcissa made a dismissive gesture with one hand and picked up her cutlery again.

"I'm glad that's settled then," she smiled.

Draco blinked but failed to find the words, the memories of pain and uncomfortable numbness too overwhelming. He shoved his chair back abruptly and left.

* * *

Draco hardly noticed the time pass by as he lay on his bed, staring at the canopy. He hated the summer estate now. Much like the Manor, it was a place where he could never feel safe again. The mere idea of going back made him sick, and the easy way in which his Mother had made that decision for both of them with no consideration for his feelings grated on him. She was the only one he had left in the world, or soon would be, and, much as he had trouble forgiving _him_ for all that happened in the past six years, _she_ had always been the one to heal him, hold him, protect him as much as she could. Could he just abandon her? But the resentment that had built up over the past year, ever since the Imperius no longer controlled his every action and thought, made it increasingly difficult to even be in the same room as her. She had always been there _afterwards_ but she _had_ let it all happen. He was torn.

The pecking of an owl against a window disrupted his gloomy thoughts and he dragged himself into a sitting position while opening the window with a swish of his wand. The owl circled around the room once and dropped a letter in his lap. Then he perched on a chair near the open fire and ruffled his feathers, amber eyes steadily focused on Draco.

Draco looked at the letter in confusion. It didn't bear the seal of the Ministry and he'd seen Goldstein only the day before to agree on the last details for moving out - he refused to use the word eviction. He muttered a couple of spells but there seemed to be no sign of curses or poisons.

He levitated the letter and turned it around, and saw his own name scrawled on the parchment. He recognised the handwriting immediately, of course, he'd seen it for seven years in Hogwarts, copying potions instructions and arithmancy equations and scribbling notes on the desk next to him. He opened the letter with trembling hands.

 _Draco,_

 _I apologise I did not get in touch earlier. My mother sent me to Italy for a few years and refused to let me come back until last week, as she believed the situation in England was too volatile still. But somehow your father's conviction convinced her that the English wizarding community will soon be at peace. You can imagine my surprise and outrage when she told me of the Malfoy trials and all you have suffered._

 _I do not know what to say. Please forgive me for abandoning you to your fate, and allow me to make amends. I know you have to leave the Manor soon and may not have a place to go. Please come to Zabini Manor, you will be very welcome here. I can do with the company of one of my oldest friends after all this time being pampered at my grandmother's. Mother insists you come over, at least for a few weeks, before you exile yourself to the country or a quiet life abroad._

 _The Lodge is at your disposal for as long as you like, if you prefer it over the house._

 _B.Z._

Draco swallowed. He was unsure whether to smile or sneer. So Blaise Zabini had managed to avoid getting entangled in the War altogether. Draco felt a surge of bile coming up through his throat, but he fought it back. His right hand rubbed his left forearm absently, though his Mark no longer itched. He knew he should not resent his friend for escaping the torture, but he could not help the feeling. At the same time, here was his way out. He could avoid going back to that damned place. He could stay in England, reconnect to Blaise and think about his future. And maybe not seeing his mother for a while would make it easier to forgive her.

Then he read the letter again and smiled. Blaise knew him too well. Mrs. Zabini was a wonderful and caring woman, but Draco sometimes found her affections a little overwhelming. By offering Draco the Lodge, he was really offering Draco a home, a place where he could retreat if being part of the Zabini household became too much. He penned a quick note accepting the invitation to the Lodge, and sent it off with the horned owl.

* * *

Thursday arrived bright and early, a crisp autumn morning with the first signs of frost and a confirmation that summer was gone. Draco woke up feeling rested for the first time since he knew he'd have to leave the Manor. Though the house itself didn't mean all that much to him and part of him couldn't wait to leave it behind forever, another part of him was afraid of the complete and utter freedom that awaited him. Nobody to tell him what to do. No estate to manage, no expectations to live up to, no society to scrutinize his every move, his choices would be his own. But that scared him, too, and Blaise offering a place to stay gave him some more time to decide what he wanted to do with his life, now he was in control again.

"I won't be joining you in France, Mother," he said to Narcissa over breakfast. Narcissa looked at him, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed. She waited for him to say more, but no explanation followed.

"Where will you go?"

"Blaise Zabini invited me to visit for a while. I have already let him know I'll gladly accept. It will be nice to see him again after such a long time."

Narcissa's features softened a little but her eyes were still hard.

"And what about me?" Her voice was soft and subtly pleading, but Draco had regained his Slytherin wits and recognised the attempt at manipulation.

"You wanted to go to the Chateau, you said. I'm sure the vineyard will keep you occupied, and if not, the house in Paris is also available," he said with a dismissive gesture.

"How can you just abandon me, Draco? You cannot be serious. You're all the family I have left now… Please, darling. You cannot leave me to deal with my loss alone."

Draco looked at her. He saw the way her lips trembled delicately, but a little bit too deliberately. He saw the soft pleading in her eyes, and the coldness behind it. He would not be persuaded this time.

"Mother…"

He paused, not sure what to say.

"Draco, please…"

Draco interrupted before she could beg again.

"I think it would be better for us to be apart for a while," he said with quiet determination.

Narcissa closed her mouth with a snap, her eyes widened in genuine surprise.

"Why?"

Her voice was measured, but Draco knew it concealed her anger and confusion.

"It is true that we are all that is left of the family, and I would not want to lose you. But I think that if we continue to be in such close proximity to each other I will continue to resent you, and I may never forgive you. Because I do resent you, Mother. You were there and you didn't stop him. And I have to live with all the things I did, even if it was under the Imperius curse. I have to live with those memories and you could have prevented all of it, but you looked the other way. You let him. You chose him over me, and even now, by visiting him, it feels like you choose him over me. And I cannot forgive you. Not yet. Maybe some day, but it is too early now, and that is why I think it would be good for us to separate. It will give me time to heal, and hopefully for the resentment to disappear. It will give you a chance to build a new life in France, and maybe I can make amends here. So go to France, and I will stay in England. It's the best solution, Mother.

Narcissa turned paler as Draco continued speaking. She gripped the edge of the table so forcefully her knuckles turned white and Draco was sure she might have dug dents in the wood.

"Fine."

It was all Narcissa said to him for the rest of the meal, after which she left for the Ministry, to spend the last day with her husband.

Draco stayed at the Manor, arguing with the Aurors that had come to the Manor to check the trunks he and his mother had packed for Dark artifacts or objects that now belonged to the Ministry. It was humiliating but Draco gritted his teeth and kept the house elves, who were mortified and angry at the way the Aurors messed up their packing and threw around their Master's belongings, under control.

* * *

When his mother returned, she took one disdainful look at the Aurors and walked back out of the drawing room, a firm grip on Draco's arm. He followed her, more out of curiosity than because her grip was too firm to shake free. They walked into Narcissa's sitting room, and only then did she let go of his arm. She turned to face him and looked at him, her eyes traveling up and down over his face and body as if she had never seen him before.

"I am sorry. I truly am sorry, but that cannot take away what happened, it does not take away the memories, the pain, and the nightmares. I hope you will be able to forgive me. Stay with Blaise, take all the time you need. But please do not push me any further away. Let me write to you, occasionally. Let me know how you are doing and what is happening in your life. Please, Draco. I will leave tonight, I will not stay in England any longer, but I need to know you will not cut me off completely. Please."

Draco swallowed, then nodded. He was not completely convinced of her sincerity, but then the experience of the War had made him wary of everybody and everything. And he knew his mother loved him.

"We can write. I… I will miss you, Mother," he said, softly. But he knew he would miss the mother who had cared for him when he had broken a leg falling off his father's broom when he was five, not the woman who was standing before him now. The realisation saddened him, but he suppressed the feeling, if only for these last few moments.

Then she drew him into a tight hug, and he could not help but hugging back.

"I think it is time I take my leave, then, Draco. Send the house elves after me with my trunks once the Aurors have finished nosing through my undergarments."

Draco smiled and escorted his mother to the Floo room, where she took one of the family portkeys to the Chateau. He pocketed the other Portkeys to prevent the Ministry from confiscating them and went back to his room to finish packing.

* * *

Draco hardly slept that last night in the Manor. Thoughts swirled incessantly in his head, unsettled his stomach and kept him awake most of the night. But he was determined to stay until the last possible moment, whether out of defiance or pride he could not say.

He stared out of the window of the small drawing room, white peacocks dotted across the lawn, the last roses blooming in the bushes, thinking of his Father who was receiving the Kiss right about now. Relief and regret battled in his heart. A quiet pop brought his thoughts back to the present. He turned around and eyed the house elf standing in front of him. She was twisting the edge her tea towel in her bony hands, her ears drooping and her purple eyes huge and pleading.

"Yes, Essie," he sighed.

"Master Draco being pleased all the luggage be delivered, Sir."

"Thank you, Essie. Have you all received your instructions to care for the house and the new masters?"

"Yes, Master Draco, but Master Draco, Essie want to come with Master Draco, please?"

Draco tilted his head and studied the elf more closely. She had been his nursery elf when he was a child and they had always had a special bond.

"What do you mean, Essie?"

"Please, Master must take Essie to Zabini Lodge with him. Who will cleans and cooks for Master? Please, Master?" Essie had thrown herself at his feet, her hands clutching at his robes. Draco felt strangely moved by her plea and swallowed away the tightness in his throat.

"I'm sure your new masters will take great care of you, Essie. I will have the Zabini elves to take care of the Lodge," he said gently, prying his robes out of her hands and pulling her up.

"Please Master!" she whimpered, her hands clutching at his wrist.

Draco ran a hand over his face. He tried to remember what the Ministry decree had said about their elves and then decided he could care less.

"Fine, Essie, go to the Lodge and I will see you there."

"Thank yous Master Draco. Essie take good care of yous."

She disapparated with a pop just as Draco noticed movement at the far edge of the lawn. The gates to the grounds were thrown open and admitted an open carriage drawn by a magnificent pair of Abraxans, landing softly on the driveway and coming to a stop in front of the doors. The three people in the carriage looked up at the house without seeing him. Draco could distinguish the signature Weasley red hair on the tallest man and black hair on the other man. The third was wearing a cloak with the hood over her head but was clearly a woman, dressed in a soft blue Muggle-style dress. They alighted from the carriage, the black-haired man turning to offer his hand to assist the cloaked woman, and they walked up to the Manor's front doors, arm in arm. Draco's mouth went dry as the three came closer and closer, and then the hooded woman seemed to look up, almost straight at him, and he knew he had to leave. The grip on his wand was firm as he thought desperately of Zabini Manor and Apparated away.

* * *

 _Thanks again for your reviews and support!_


	6. A new start

**6\. A new start**

"Draco! I expected you to arrive this afternoon!"

Draco found himself enveloped in a long hug, and he couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of his throat, releasing the tension from his body. He clapped Blaise on the back and then disentangled himself.

"Italy seems to have done you good, Blaise," Draco said. His friend did look very well, tall and lanky like Draco himself had once been, his olive skin glowing, dark eyes alight with mischief and a happy grin on his face. Blaise Zabini dragged a hand through his dark hair and nodded towards the Manor.

"Mother was so happy you accepted the invitation. Do you want to go over and see her first, or go to the Lodge and get settled?"

Draco looked between the Lodge and the Manor. He had landed on the driveway, right in between the two houses. His eyes lingered longingly on the Lodge, but then he remembered his manners and smiled - an almost genuine smile - and motioned towards the Manor.

"I'd love to see your mother again. How has she been?"

"The same as always. She's not too happy with Flora for getting involved with the younger MacMillan boy, the little brother of that Hufflepuff in our year? He was a Ravenclaw, so it could be worse, but the family is not as wealthy as they once were, the War, you know..." Blaise trailed off, a slight blush barely visible on his cheeks.

Draco sent him a wry smile, one eyebrow lifted.

"My apologies, Draco, I did not think…"

"No apology necessary. I'm sure many families have suffered from the War, in one way or another."

He managed to keep his face in an unconcerned mask as they stepped up to the main doors, then into the hallway. He wished he could scream instead.

"Mother is in the drawing room, I believe. Come along, she has been looking forward to seeing you again."

Draco followed Blaise into the drawing room and was, as always, struck by the difference with his former home. Where the Malfoy Manor drawing room had all the cold elegance of a marble statue, this room was cosy and warm, with chairs and little tables dotted all around, a harp in the far corner near the window, and a blazing fire in the high open hearth.

"Draco, carissimo! So lovely to see you again, my dear. But you look so thin and pale, we will do something about that. Rusty, tea and scones please. You like scones and cream, yes? I believe it is your favorite? Come sit with me, Draco, tell me how you are."

Mrs. Zabini descended on him the moment he entered the room, giving him a hug and two kisses on each cheek, then guiding him to a sofa, and sitting down beside him, hands moving excitedly with every word she said, now patting him on the arm, then flailing about to emphasize her words. Draco had learned many years ago that he never had time to respond between one remark and the next, so he made no attempt to reply to her questions, other than a nod or quiet murmur. It was nice to be somewhere where people liked him for him and he could avoid the looks of pity or contempt that usually came his way. Then he realised Mrs. Zabini was looking at him expectantly, and he coughed, colouring slightly.

"I'm doing well, Signora, thank you. It has not been easy, but it is over now. Mother has moved to France and Father…" He stopped, but the smile on Mrs. Zabini's face was encouraging and kind, and he sighed. "Father is gone now. He received the Kiss earlier today."

"I am sorry, caro, that is such an unpleasant situation. But I daresay he got nothing less than he deserved, he was a repulsive man."

Draco could not help but laugh at that understatement. "I fully agree, Signora."

"Still, caro, he was your father and it must be painful. It is quite normal to feel a little sad, no matter how much you believe he deserved it," she said, caressing his cheek affectionately. Then she rolled her shoulders, as if to rid herself of an uncomfortable ache.

"Let us not talk about the past now. Flora will join us in a few minutes, and she can play the harp for us. I really cannot stand too much noise, at my old age, you see, but the harp always soothes me."

Draco took her hand, and, with a mischievous grin, he said, "Carissima Signora, you look younger than ever, I am sure," and kissed her hand.

She slapped his wrist and laughed, a carefree, tinkling laugh, the kind that Draco had not heard for many, many years. He sat back on the settee, letting the warmth and laughter wash over him, and revelling in the sharp contrast with the gloomy Manor he had left behind.

* * *

Draco settled in the Lodge, despite Mrs. Zabini entreating him to stay at the Manor, and they soon fell into a pattern. Draco would join the Zabinis around noon, and spend the afternoon with Blaise, sometimes accompanied by Flora and Mrs. Zabini. He usually stayed for supper and let Mrs. Zabini fuss over him, while he charmed her shamelessly, knowing it soothed her vanity even though she was well aware that that was exactly what he was doing. When he was in their company, he could feel carefree and almost normal, but as soon as the doors of the Lodge closed behind him, he would collapse, exhausted from the smiles and company, and let the waves of loneliness and failure crash over him. He could only sleep with a large dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion to suppress the nightmares that haunted him at night. But in the mornings he would wake up and thank Merlin that he had escaped that life, and find the strength to spend another day with the Zabinis, a smile that became more and more genuine every day fixed on his face. If he had an occasional bout of melancholy while with them, the Zabinis helped him through it, either by leaving him to himself for a while, or cajoling him into joining them in games and banter.

Draco had all but forgotten that Weasley and Potter were now living in his ancestral home, until Flora bounded down the stairs one day with a letter in her hand.

"Mother, Mother, look, Luna wants to come visit with her husband! They've moved somewhere nearby and want to present themselves properly as new neighbours. They suggest the day after tomorrow, would that be acceptable? Oh please, Mother, I have not seen Luna in years! She was always so nice to me at Hogwarts, I would love to renew our friendship!"

Mrs. Zabini took the letter from her daughter's hand, scanned it and let her eyes linger on the signature at the bottom. Then she glanced at Draco, sending an uncomfortable smile his way as she said, "Of course they can come the day after tomorrow. Invite Mr. and Mrs. Potter over for tea. I will be happy to make their acquaintance."

Draco had not quite understood why Mrs. Zabini would look at him like that, but when she mentioned Potter's name, he stiffened.

Flora noticed and exclaimed, mortified, "Oh Draco, I'm so sorry, was it your house they moved into? That was so insensitive of me, do forgive me. I'll tell them it is not convenient. I…"

Draco took a deep breath to compose himself and then cut in, "Please do not put them off on my account, Flora, if Mrs. Potter is your friend, by all means invite them. Malfoy Manor is no longer my home, the house belongs to Auror Potter now, and I have come to accept that. But I hope you will excuse me staying at the Lodge for the duration of their visit."

Mrs. Zabini tutted at him. "Hiding cannot solve anything, Draco. If the Potters plan to stay around for a while, chances are they will visit here more often, especially if Mrs. Potter and Flora were such good friends. You would do better to meet them and get the worst over with."

Draco inclined his head in assent, but thought privately to himself that meeting _Potter_ was far from the worst.

The letter was soon sent off, and the Potters accepted the invitation with a swift return owl. Flora was excited to see Luna again, and Blaise and Draco wondered how Potter had ended up marrying her, rather than the Weasley girl he had seemed to be courting at Hogwarts. Draco believed Potter had made a much better choice in Luna Lovegood, and he was relieved he wouldn't be facing a Weasley for tea. The former Miss Lovegood he could deal with, but the Weasley temper was quite another thing.

* * *

Of course, life had been too good for the past weeks, Draco thought as the guests entered the drawing room. He was sitting on the couch with Mrs. Zabini, Blaise having claimed the most comfortable armchair, and Flora had been in the Floo room to welcome her guests. She entered the drawing room with a petite woman on her arm, long blonde hair, pale blue eyes, strange pink glasses and tiny red strawberries in her ears. Draco blinked at the sight, but gracefully stood up, waiting to be introduced. Harry Potter walked into the drawing room behind them, his eyes darting everywhere as if to scout for threats and possible escape routes. Draco assumed it was an instinct from the War. His eyes seemed to linger on Draco, but if Potter was surprised to see him here, he managed not to show it. Draco was impressed, at Hogwarts Potter had never been able to hide his feelings.

"Mother, may I introduce Luna and Harry Potter, Luna was a friend of mine at Hogwarts," Flora began. Then another person stepped into the room, and Draco closed his eyes in exasperation. _Weasley. Of course, Weasley would be here too._

"What's he doing here?" Ronald Weasley exclaimed, whipping out his wand and pointing it straight at Draco. Draco refrained from drawing his own wand with difficulty and only studied the youngest Weasley brother through narrowed eyes.

"Ron. Stop." Harry Potter sounded annoyed as he reached out and tried to push his friend's wand down.

Luna Potter's usually dreamy face focused on Ron with a sharp glance. Flora stared at Draco and Ron, looking back and forth, her mouth open in surprise and mortification at such a blatant disregard of the rules of hospitality.

Blaise had drawn his wand but pointed it at the floor, staring intently at Ronald Weasley.

"Mr. Weasley!"

Ron flinched, only a little, at the harsh tone in which Mrs. Zabini called out his name. Draco was reminded of Professor McGonagall, though the petite Italian and the Scottish harridan could not look more different.

"Put away your wand immediately."

Mrs. Zabini rose from her seat, stepping in front of Draco in a graceful movement, and glared at the uninvited guest. Draco smirked at Ronald Weasley now, over Mrs. Zabini's head, and Weasley turned a shade of red Draco had no term for.

"What is he doing here?" Weasley repeated through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Zabini stepped closer to Weasley until the tip of his wand was just an inch from her throat, forcing him to lower his arm. Though she was not of the same stature as Mrs. Weasley, both matriarchs were formidable women when enraged. Her magic crackled around her, her eyes flashing and her posture upright and regal. Blaise and Flora took an involuntary step back at the sight.

"When you come into my house uninvited, Mr. Weasley, you will not draw your wand on invited guests. Unless you are here in an official Auror capacity, you will not walk into my house like you have a right to question everyone inside, _Mr._ Weasley. You will behave courteously or you _will leave._ "

Ronald Weasley swallowed uncomfortably, standing very stiff as if he had to stop himself from cowering away from the woman in front of him. For a moment, he felt like he was being scolded by his mother.

"Ron, put your wand away now," Harry Potter said, quietly but with authority. "You have insulted our hostess quite enough."

Now Weasley glared at his best friend, but he did slip his wand back into his sleeve, stiffly bowed towards Mrs. Zabini and mumbled an apology.

Mrs. Zabini raised one disdainful eyebrow, and accepted the apology coldly.

Then she turned to Flora with a warm smile. "I believe you were introducing us, carina."

Flora glanced uneasily between the still fuming redhead and her mother, but obliged.

"Mother, may I introduce Luna Potter, formerly Lovegood, and her husband Harry Potter. Luna and I often studied together at Hogwarts. And that is Mr. Ronald Weasley, a friend of Mr. Potter. Luna, this is my mother, Elissa Zabini, and I'm sure you remember my brother, Blaise, and Mr. Draco Malfoy, a close family friend who is staying here."

Luna greeted everyone in her typical, vague way. Draco was surprised when even he received a smile and a nod. He moved to the windows to look out over the grounds, trying hard to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck that told him Weasley was still glaring at him. The Zabini gardens soothed him, even if the weather was stormy and the wind made the trees move restlessly. He was startled when someone coughed right behind him, and he turned away from the window, only to find Harry Potter standing beside him, with an inscrutable look in his eyes. Then he noticed Potter was holding out his hand.

"Malfoy," was all he said.

Draco looked at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes, but there was sincerity in the mix of emotions.

"Potter," Draco acknowledged, and after a little hesitation, he shook the other man's hand. An amused glint in those green eyes showed that Potter had noticed the hesitation but took no offense. And for a fleeting moment, Draco was reminded of that time, so many years ago, when his offered hand had been rejected.

"So, you are living here now?"

Draco turned back to the window, suppressing a sigh of annoyance. Shaking hands was one thing, but actually making conversation with the man was quite another.

"At the Lodge, actually." Draco gestured at the small house just about visible at the other end of the driveway. "Mrs. Zabini invited me to stay here while I recover from the trials and figure out my future. I accepted the offer of the Lodge for the time being. Staying in the house itself… Mrs. Zabini is a wonderful woman, but..." he trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

Potter nodded. "I can understand you would want some peace and quiet."

They looked at each other in understanding, then turned back to the window.

"Look, Malfoy… I know this must be awkward for you. The house... I tried… I didn't think it was right, not after all your father did to you, and… "

"Stop, please. I know you have a saviour complex but I'm not one of your damsels in distress waiting to be rescued."

"I know that, Malfoy. I just wanted to say, I understand this can't be an easy situation and I'm sorry. And with Luna and Flora apparently getting on well, I'm afraid you might see more of us."

"I don't need your pity, Potter. I am happy to be out of that house, and I hope you enjoy living in that gloomy dump. I much prefer the Lodge, honestly. It has quite a different atmosphere."

Harry Potter chuckled.

"Compassion isn't the same as pity, Malfoy." He paused, noticed Draco's frown and decided to change subjects.

"How's your Mother?"

"Very well, I believe. She's in France now. I don't think she will come back to England any time soon."

"Where is she staying?"

"We still have an estate in the south-west of France. She'll be there for a few weeks at least, maybe go on to Paris in winter. She loves Paris, and the wizarding community there has always welcomed us warmly. My family came over from France with the Muggle King William the Conqueror, you know. We were only a minor branch then but the French line died out a century or two ago, so now we're the only ones left to carry the name. My mother puts a lot of stock on that."

"And you do not?"

"There was a time I was proud of the history of my family, but I've learned that there are more important things."

Harry waited but Draco didn't elaborate any further.

Blaise came up to them just then, saying, "So, Potter, your wife tells me you're expecting more guests?"

"Yes, we're very much looking forward to it."

Draco could hear the blood rushing through his ears and missed what else they were saying. Guests? He felt ill, all of a sudden, and quickly made his excuses to Mrs. Zabini so he could return to the sanctuary of the Lodge.

* * *

"You left very suddenly yesterday. I hope you are feeling better?" Blaise was lounging in the Lodge's living room when Draco came down for breakfast.

"I could no longer stand all the Gryffindor righteousness in that room."

Blaise snorted. "Well, you might want to make sure you stay away in future, they are expecting more Gryffindors to join them. Or one Gryffindor in particular, actually."

Draco tried to hold on to the hope that they were talking about Weasley's sister. It would make sense for her to visit her brother, right? More sense than…

"They said yesterday Miss Hermione Granger is joining them for a while. Apparently she's been out of the country for the past year or so, but now she's finally returned and moving back in with Potter. And I'm pretty sure we'll be seeing more of them, since Flora and Mrs. Potter are getting on so well, so you better get used to all the Gryffindor righteousness…"

Draco turned around swiftly, and walked into the kitchen where Essie was preparing breakfast.

"I'm sure Mrs. Potter and Flora will enjoy her company," he said, as it was the most neutral thing he could think of.

Blaise had followed him in and sat across from Draco. He grinned. "Yes, and I believe Miss Granger and Mrs. Potter will spend a lot of time here. Apparently Mrs. Potter doesn't like the Wrackspurts swarming the Manor."

Draco grinned back. "So charming, Mrs. Potter."

"And," Blaise lowered his voice and leaned closer to Draco, "Apparently there is some bad blood between Weasley and Granger. They were abroad together for a while but he came back months ago, while she stayed away. Not that anyone said anything, but dear Luna Potter has her ways of making observations."

Then he sat up straight again and took a bowl of fruit salad from the house elf. "I smell scandal and I cannot wait to find out more."

Draco tried to grin and nod along. Blaise had always been a notorious gossip, and he knew he had to keep up appearances. The thought of seeing Hermione again was terrifying, but it would have been worse if anyone knew of their shared past.

"So when is she joining them?" He was quite sure his voice had just the right amount of indifferent curiosity to avoid suspicion.

"Some time next week, I believe. Mother has already invited them all over for supper next Thursday. You'll join us, won't you? I'm sure I can't stand spending an entire evening with only Gryffindors to talk to…"

"Of course, Blaise. Tell your mother I'll be there."

Draco made all the right noises to continue the flow of the conversation, and Blaise hardly noticed that he was not paying attention. Draco's mind kept repeating the same words over and over. _Ten days. I'll see her again in ten days._

* * *

 **AN: Oh my gosh I totally thought I'd posted this but apparently not! Oops! Clearly my brain was fried by the British heat wave. Thank you so much for the reviews and favourites and follows! Each and every one warms my heart. Please do let me know what you think!**

 **AN2: Fanfiction is playing silly buggers with the updates so I'm trying to make this work. There is only one update today (the next one is a ghost chapter I will delete asap)**


	7. Fickle Fortunes

**7\. Fickle Fortune**

Five days had passed since Blaise had confirmed Hermione would be joining Potter and Weasley at the Manor, and though ten days had once seemed like a lifetime, half of them had passed so quickly that the apprehension soon became unbearable. Draco was, in one word, a wreck. He managed to keep up appearances around Blaise and his family, and if they thought he seemed more distant and disagreeable than during the first few weeks of his stay, they must attribute it to a delayed reaction to his father's sentence and his eviction from the Manor, triggered by the visit of the Potters and Weasley.

Luna and Harry Potter visited Zabini Manor again, several times even, and Draco managed to avoid them without raising too much suspicion. He had no desire to hear about the Great Saviour's adventures during the War and quickly changed the subject whenever it seemed to come up during the quieter family dinners.

"You really dislike talking about the War," Blaise observed one evening, while the ladies were occupying themselves with the harp.

"Would you not?" Draco made no effort to disguise the weariness in his voice.

"I just think it might help, Draco. Talking about it, I mean. It cannot be healthy to keep all that to yourself. You know I'm here for you if you need me. Or you could see a mind-healer, if you wanted to talk to someone neutral."

Draco just shook his head with a derisive smile.

"I just… You need to find a way to deal with it. The War happened. You were dealt an unlucky hand, nobody can deny it," Blaise pressed on.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, except Weasley, maybe, but his opinion is of no consequence. Auror Potter is quite reasonable, as you would know if you did not always run off like you were chased by Dementors when he and Mrs. Potter visit."

Draco twitched and turned his gaze to the fire.

"You thought we hadn't noticed?" Blaise's voice was soft and too understanding. "I would have taken it as a personal insult but Potter just shrugged it off." Blaise shook his head, as if wondering how someone could be so quick to excuse an offense. "He's not that bad, you know."

"I have no doubt," Draco drawled, in a tone that was meant to indicate he was finished with the conversation. But Blaise, with an insistence borne of many years of friendship, ignored it.

"Come on, Draco, try not to avoid him. Flora and Mrs. Potter are getting along really well, and he likes to accompany his wife when she visits, they're bound to be here regularly. Mother and Flora might start thinking they need to distance themselves again to accommodate you, and you know they would choose your comfort over their acquaintance with the Potters. So swallow your damned pride, or whatever it is that keeps you away, and do not force them to make that choice."

Draco glanced at his friend, noticed the determined set of his jaw and hard glint in his eyes, and sighed. Then he nodded. "Fine. My apologies. It just seemed easier, and…"

"You owe us no explanation," Blaise interrupted, "we could not predict they would form such a close connection and there was no need for you to suffer their presence if it made you so uncomfortable. But since they seem to fast become a permanent addition to our circle… I really have no desire to see my little sister lose the first friend she's had since the War."

Draco just shook his head, a forced smile on his face that did not reach his eyes. "No need to press any further, Blaise. I see what you are doing, for shame! Using my affection for your family to force me into socializing." He raised an eyebrow in mock accusation. Blaise tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement, then sent his friend a questioning glance. Draco sighed and nodded. "I promise to be civil to the Potters and make more of an effort to preserve Flora's budding friendship with the charming Mrs. Potter."

"No promises concerning Weasley then?"

"It's not like you're making any on that subject, Blaise," Draco replied easily.

"No." Blaise sent him a roguish grin. "Good thing he seems to prefer staying away."

"He probably thinks he makes my life more miserable by lording it over that gloomy old house. He can have it, for all I care. But if that is what keeps him away, I will happily play along."

The two men nodded at each other, and continued an easy conversation until Mrs. Zabini descended on them and claimed Draco's attention, asking him for advice on the seating arrangements and menu choices for the dinner she was hosting for their new friends. Draco easily fell back on years of Pureblood upbringing, and though he knew that Mrs. Zabini was only pretending to consult him - she had hosted a great many more dinners than he had ever attended, after all - he appreciated that she made the effort to make him feel included in her family.

* * *

Although he had promised not to purposefully avoid the Potters when they visited the Zabinis, Draco ended up missing their visit the very next day because Mr. Goldstein's head appeared in his fireplace just as he was about to head out. The lawyer asked if he could come over to discuss a matter of business and Draco, though remembering his promise to Blaise, decided that it need not be kept when there were valid reasons to help him avoid the presence of people he would rather not see. So he invited the lawyer to come through, and once he knew what the man wanted to discuss, he was glad he had done so.

"It turns out there has been some outrage on your behalf, Lord Malfoy," Mr. Goldstein began. Draco held up a hand to stop him. "Mr. will do, Mr. Goldstein. You may recall we were stripped of the title. It is for the best. I would rather not ever be addressed as Lord Malfoy. But please, continue. What do you mean, outrage?"

Goldstein flushed in embarrassment at the faux-pas and cleared his throat uneasily.

"Some voices within the Ministry believe that the sentence placed on your father's head disproportionately affected your life, Mr. Malfoy, and they have been urging the powers that be to reconsider. The Minister seems inclined to be lenient, since both you and your mother were acquitted, although he is also determined not to make any public statement in your support. I very much doubt I can recover all of the Malfoy fortune, sir, but there might be other… compensations. You see, your Mother brought a sizeable dowry into the marriage, not only money and jewellery, but the house currently known as Malfoy House in London, for instance, was hers through her Mother's parents, and because it is not listed on the last Malfoy inventory, which was made up five decades ago, it could be argued it forms no part of the Malfoy legacy."

Draco nodded. He had only visited the house a couple of times in his early childhood, when his great-grandparents were still alive, and apart from being stuffy and hot, he remembered very little. But he knew the house had come to the Malfoy estate via his mother's family.

"It would be convenient to find a permanent place to live and to depend less on my friends' hospitality," he allowed. "But would they not return the property into my mother's hands rather than mine?"

"Your mother is not looked upon quite so favourably as she once was since your testimony. Had you been heard before her trial, she may not have walked free. I cannot guarantee that this will work, Mr. Malfoy. But it could be worth putting in the effort. If you give me the authority to do so, I will take the necessary steps to organise a hearing. You will have to be present, of course, and we will need to go over the copies of the marriage contract between your parents, as well as your great-grandparents' will, all of which I have in my possession. I am under the impression that the Ministry will not put up a very great fight, should we choose to pursue this matter. We may even be able to gain more than just the house, but I do not want to bring your hopes up."

Mr. Goldstein hesitated, then added, "The house is in a derelict state, Mr. Malfoy, which is why I believe they will be happy to give it back. Please do temper your expectations, four walls and a roof is about the most I can promise you'll have. Your family never used the London house after your great-grandparents passed away, and there were no house-elves to keep the place in any kind of habitable state."

"A building can be repaired. I don't much care that the roof leaks and the walls have been blasted away. It would give me something to do with my time, as I am unlikely to find employment any time soon."

Mr. Goldstein inclined his head, but refrained from commenting.

"I suggest we submit a long list of demands for the hearing, Mr. Malfoy. Not that we are likely to get everything we ask for, but if we can agree on a very small number of non-negotiables, we can pretend to fight for things we don't particularly want and then relinquish them, giving the Ministry and the public - should they find out - the idea that we get away with only a small victory. People may be less inclined to resent you for reclaiming a house if they think you have lost more than you gained in the process."

Draco smirked. "Very Slytherin, Mr. Goldstein."

The lawyer gave him a calculated look. "One cannot survive in this profession for decades without a little cunning, Mr. Malfoy," he said drily.

Draco flushed, muttering that he meant no offense, and then the lawyer smiled warmly. "Oh, I'm not offended. The Sorting Hat nearly put me in Slytherin, you know. But I asked for Ravenclaw, as that was the family tradition. I never regretted it. But maybe you should try not to think in terms of school houses too much. People are more complex than their House characteristics, and that is as true for Ravenclaws as it is for Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and even Slytherins, as I'm sure you'll agree. Certain character traits may be more obvious than others, but life will change people. Slytherins know how to be hard-working. Ravenclaws can be brave. Hufflepuffs are intelligent. Gryffindors can be ambitious. We are not reduced to our House traits."

Draco nodded, then changed the subject back to their plans. "You have my permission to take any necessary steps to try to reclaim some of the property the Ministry confiscated after the Wizengamot decision. The house is all I ask for. I know my mother may like to have some of the Black jewels back, they refused to let her take much, and some of those pieces have been in her family for centuries, they don't belong to the Malfoy line. You can try to reclaim the money she brought in as part of her dowry as well, but neither of those are necessary as such. Bulk up the list as much as you like. I have an unfinished inventory somewhere I can owl you, it may help."

They continued discussing tactics, and when the lawyer finally took his leave, Draco realised it was almost dinner time. As he changed into his dinner robes and made his way to Zabini Manor to join his friends, he knew something had changed. He had a purpose now, something to focus on, rather than spending his days with nothing much to do except have the same thoughts milling around in his head, slowly driving him insane.

* * *

That night at dinner, Blaise told him he had missed out on the Potters' visit again.

"We expected you to join us, Draco. I hope you have a good excuse." Blaise's tone was playful but Draco recognised the accusation underneath.

"I received an unexpected visit from my lawyer, Mr. Goldstein. We had urgent business to discuss that could not be delayed, even for the pleasure of your company," he explained, with a flirtatious bow towards Mrs. Zabini.

"It is a shame, Draco. Miss Granger accompanied the Potters today, and such a lovely young lady she is. We had an interesting conversation about the Muggle customs of education and the difference with the Wizarding schools. So intelligent. You were at Hogwarts together, were you not? Blaise hardly recognised her, he said."

Mrs. Zabini told him about the meeting, hardly noticing the sudden stiffness in Draco's posture or the way his movements were more stilted than before. But Draco managed to keep his face an interested mask and responded with steady voice. Yes, he remembered her, and they had worked together on a couple of assignments but he had not interacted much with her outside those projects. He would be delighted to meet her again and was very sorry to have missed her.

He made his excuses soon after dinner and returned to the Lodge. He was exhausted from the day's emotions, the good news the lawyer had brought him, then the relief of just having missed meeting Hermione Granger again, and the distress of having to talk about her like she was some distant acquaintance and he was only marginally interested in her, while really he wanted to ask more details and drank in any comment the Zabinis made about her.

* * *

Thursday arrived with all the purpose and surprise of a day one is dreading and unable to avoid. Draco felt ill, unsure what to expect of this meeting with Miss Granger. He had seen and spoken to Potter a couple of times since her arrival, but somehow, without trying, he had avoided her. A niggling thought suggested perhaps she had been orchestrating her meetings with the Zabinis in such a way that she managed to avoid _him_ , but he dismissed the notion. She would never shy away from a confrontation.

Just as he was about to leave for the dinner, Mr. Goldstein appeared in the fireplace again.

"Mr. Malfoy. So sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I only just received the communication from the Wizengamot. They have scheduled the first hearing tomorrow. We really need to prepare our arguments tonight. I had expected them to afford us the same courtesy as others and give us the date a week in advance, but it seems that they are intending to be difficult. Please join me in my office, Mr. Malfoy, I have all the paperwork here, it will be easiest. I have a guest bedroom prepared for you if you wish to stay overnight, then we lose no time in the morning either."

Draco hesitated only for a second. "I will be there in fifteen minutes. I had plans for dinner and need to make my excuses to the Zabinis. I'll ask Essie to bring my dress robes," he said.

Goldstein nodded, then closed the floo connection. Draco called his house elf and summoned parchment and quill.

"Essie, pack what I need for an overnight stay. I will need formal robes tomorrow, plain black, please. Not the best ones, I don't want to rub my past riches in their face, but the set with slightly ragged edges on the sleeves. I know you dislike it when I use those, but I'm telling you I need them. You're not to repair them, Essie," he said sternly as the elf tried to interrupt.

"Then I need you to take this note over to Mrs. Zabini. Give her my excuses. Give her the note personally, please. I will floo to the Goldstein residence. You will bring my clothes there, leave it in whatever room they assigned me. I hope I am back tomorrow evening, I'll let you know if I stay away longer."

Then he dismissed the elf with an impatient hand gesture and turned to the note he had to send to his hostess.

The preparations for the hearing and the hearing itself took up most of that night and the following day. Draco was exhausted when he Flooed into the Lodge, and almost didn't see Blaise Zabini sitting in one of the cosy armchairs, waiting for him.

Whatever Blaise had planned to say, he pressed his lips together as he eyed his friend. "Will you explain this business that kept you away from a dinner you had promised to attend over a week ago?"

Draco realised his friend really was angry, though his voice was carefully neutral.

"Goldstein is trying to reclaim some of the properties and possessions the Wizengamot forfeited. He Flooed yesterday just as I was preparing to join you, and told me the first hearing was scheduled for today. We had to prepare as best as we could with the short time they had given us. You will forgive me for trying to regain some of what was unfairly taken, I hope." Draco was tired, too tired to keep the irritation out of his voice. "I sent a note to your mother explaining my predicament and making my excuses. I did not think she would take offense, considering the circumstances."

"She did not," Blaise admitted, "but she explained nothing either. I thought you simply made up an excuse."

"You seem to have very little faith in me, Blaise," Draco said, after considering his friend in silence. Blaise flushed a few shades darker. "I'm sorry, Draco. I was irritated that you missed out on dinner, and then Weasley kept making insinuations. I should have ignored him."

Draco chose not to dignify that with an answer. Was it not _self-evident_ that anything Weasley said should be ignored? He just sighed, and started making his way upstairs.

"I am really tired, Blaise, as you can imagine. I will come over to the Manor tomorrow and make my excuses to your mother and sister in person."

Blaise had no chance to say anything more, as Draco had disappeared into his bedroom.

* * *

Distracted by the events of the day before, Draco was quite unprepared for visitors when he made his way to the Manor the next morning. It was a crisp and sunny autumn day, so he decided to walk through the gardens, hoping to find Mrs. Zabini in her rose garden, where she liked to spend beautiful mornings. He found her sitting on a secluded bench, and sat down next to her at her invitation.

"I want to apologise, Mrs. Zabini, for not being able to make it to your dinner on Thursday," Draco began. He was quickly interrupted by the older woman, though. "Do not worry, caro. I understood from your letter that you had urgent business to take care of. I was disappointed, of course, I will not deny that. You know I consider you like a son, and as such, your absence at one of my dinners will always pain me. However, it may have been for the best. That Weasley boy was horribly rude all evening, I could hardly stand it. I am sure if his mother knew what a discredit he is to her family… The Molly Prewett I knew would never stand for such atrocious behaviour. It is only for Flora's sake I did not throw him out, I was unsure how his friends would take it. Though they seemed as embarrassed as the rest of us with his ill-natured remarks. I most certainly will never be inviting him over again."

Draco smiled at the passionate speech, and took her hand in his. "Thank you, Signora, for making me feel so welcome here. I know I do not say so enough, but I am so grateful."

"Oh, Draco, carissimo, you know you will always have a home here. If you could have got away… But no use going over that now. I am just glad to see you happy again, ragazzo, happy and healthy," she smiled at him. Draco inclined his head and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. "You are too kind, Signora."

"But tell me about your business, Draco, is there anything we can help you with, you think?" The Zabini matriarch changed the subject expertly, feeling they were venturing too far into the kind of sentimental discourse that would leave them both uncomfortable.

"Mr. Goldstein lodged an appeal with the Wizengamot to try and reclaim part of the properties and possessions they confiscated as part of my father's sentence. He thinks we may be able to recover Malfoy House in London, which once belonged to my great-grandparents Rosier, as well as some of the Black jewellery, which belongs to my Mother's family, rather than the Malfoy line. I received notice Thursday evening right before I set out to meet you for dinner that the first hearing had been planned for Friday, and we needed the evening to prepare."

"That is great news, Draco. You did not deserve to lose everything as you did. Do you think you are likely to win?"

Draco shrugged, then winced at his own ungracious behaviour. "We are cautiously hopeful. Mr. Goldstein believes the Ministry is unlikely to want to hold on to every single thing they confiscated, though the Manor and the family vault are unlikely to ever return in my hands. Not that I want them to, Signora, please believe that. Even if I did, those are too much a symbol of their victory over my father and the humiliation of my family for the Ministry to give up. But the London house is an old ruin, and doesn't hold any symbolic meaning. They may be happy to be rid of it, and then I can focus my energy on rebuilding the place into a new home for me."

"I'm glad you have something to fight for, then," Mrs. Zabini said, squeezing his hand.

They were interrupted by female voices closing in on them, giggling and laughing. Draco stood up gracefully to take his leave from Mrs. Zabini. He turned away from her, intending to go to the Manor and find Blaise, and looked straight into sparkling brown eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks, his breath stuck in his throat. Any colour he had before drained from his face, and he felt faint. But if years of Pureblood upbringing had taught him anything, it was to straighten his back and mask his discomfort in _every_ situation.

"Draco, it's been ages since we've seen you here. Such a shame you couldn't make it to Mother's dinner," Flora said, wrapping him in a tight hug, which he returned, though his eyes couldn't stray from the brown ones that had captured his gaze, even if he wanted to.

"Luna's visiting, and Hermione came along to see the rose garden, Mother promised to show her. You remember Draco Malfoy, Hermione?" Flora Zabini smiled at her guests, not noticing the sudden coldness in her friend's eyes. But Draco did, and it felt worse than the Cruciatus curse he'd endured, because even in his worst moments the memory of her face radiating with love for him had been a comfort.

"Yes, I remember Mr. Malfoy," was all she said, however, before walking past him and smiling at Mrs. Zabini. Draco blinked, shocked at being dismissed so easily.

"You really have a beautiful garden, Mrs. Zabini. How come the roses are still blooming, is it not too late in the year?" Hermione asked. Mrs. Zabini rose from her seat and offered Hermione her arm. "Magic, Miss Granger," she smiled. "The rose bushes are kept under anti-freeze spells so the roses can continue to bloom all year. You must come back in winter when it has snowed, it makes the gardens look like a fairy tale. Draco, excuse me, I think Blaise is at the Quidditch pitch this afternoon, he said something about flying. Will you join us for dinner tonight?"

Draco managed a smile.

"Of course, Signora. I will see you tonight." He kissed Mrs. Zabini's free hand. Then he bowed to the other three women. "Miss Granger, Mrs. Potter, Flora. Pleasure, as always." He turned on his heel and walked towards the Quidditch pitch, trying to control his breathing. He'd seen her. He'd met her. They had exchanged greetings. She looked almost the same as she had six years ago. Older, of course, and harder too, because of the War, but in essentials still the same. Except for the look in her eyes. She hated him.

That thought hit him like a bludger, shattering what little hope he had left to see some sign of cordiality or care in her, and he stopped behind a rosebush to regain his composure. When her eyes had turned cold and her mouth tensed, he'd felt something inside him die. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. He never realised how important the idea of reconciliation had been for him throughout these past years until all hope of it was gone. The thought of her had given him the strength not to give in to his father's torture, never to follow Voldemort's orders willingly, not to go insane when he was imprisoned in his own mind by the Imperius curse. But her cold demeanor had shattered the hope he had barely been able to acknowledge still existed in his heart, and it _hurt_. It hurt more than a thousand Cruciatus curses.


	8. As new friendships grow

_**AN:** Special thanks to my Beta hobbit penguin - any remaining mistakes are my own._

 _Also apologies for such a long break - it's so very hard to get back into the swing of things after a good holiday. I promise more regular updates from now on!_

* * *

 **8\. As new friendships grow...**

When Draco arrived at the Quidditch pitch at the other side of the Manor, he noticed two flyers already high up in the air. He recognised Potter right away as his flying style hadn't changed much over the years. Draco leaned against the broom shed and just watched Blaise and Potter flying. He could not quite bring himself to interrupt, although he knew Blaise would be happy to see him. The blow was too recent, the pain of rejection too sharp, and the emotional turmoil he had gone through in the past weeks made him feel less than confident. His eyes followed the moving dots high above, but in his mind, all he saw was the cold, angry look in her eyes. He was brought out of his reverie by Blaise, who landed right in front of him.

"Are you joining us, Draco?"

Draco blinked, his face melting into an inscrutable mask.

"I talked to your mother before I came here," he said, ignoring Blaise's question.

"You said you would. So are you joining us or are you going to stand there like a scared Flobberworm?"

Draco hesitated and Blaise's eyes narrowed fractionally. Then Potter came down and hovered next to Blaise.

"Come on Malfoy, grab a broom and fly with us. How about a Seekers' game? You never did manage to beat me at Hogwarts," Potter said, but though his tone was teasing, his eyes were kind and genuine, and Draco realised the man was not trying to rile him up.

"You're on, Potter," he said, old habits grabbing hold of his tongue before his mind could catch up.

He dug around in the broomshed until he found a Flying Arrow, not the latest version but not very old yet either, and after testing the feel of the wood and the balance of the bristles, he closed his hand more firmly over the shaft and stepped out again.

"Careful, Draco, Flora won't like it if you break her broom."

"Don't be ridiculous, Blaise, I was practically born on a broom," Draco huffed, and he straddled the Arrow with a graceful movement borne from muscle memory rather than recent practice.

Draco could feel the hum of magic in the broom, the energy coursing through his veins and the familiar thrill of competing against Potter, and he almost felt like his old self again. He glanced at his former rival, who was still chatting amicably with Blaise. He noticed how Potter tossed his hair out of his face with an impatient flick of his head, and blinked. It was unconscious, so quick no one else would have noticed. But Draco recognised it as one of Hermione's quirks and it was a painful reminder of the woman he had just left in the rose garden. If Potter had copied that gesture into his own unconscious behaviour, he must have spent a lot of time with her in recent years. Draco was quite sure he'd never done this at Hogwarts.

Draco swallowed at the implications and had to forcefully remind himself that Granger was like a sister to Potter, who had married the Lovegood girl, not her, and that he had no right to be angry about anything that did or did not happen anyway, because he was the one who had decided to walk away. The thought made him angry, and hurt, and unreasonably jealous, and when Blaise finally released the Snitch and the two Seekers took off, he poured all those emotions in his flying. They followed the Snitch but quickly lost track, and instead of flying in lazy circles, as Seekers usually did when trying to spot the Snitch, Draco continued shooting back and forth across the pitch in a frenzy, rolling, tumbling, leading Potter in a game of feints and races that soon had his own head spinning, and still he did not stop. His eyes kept darting over the pitch, left, right, up, down, behind and in front, looking for the telltale glint of gold in the sunlight, while the quick zigzags and loops gave his body the exercise it needed to get the poison that was Hermione Granger out of his system.

Then he saw the Snitch out of the corner of his eye, and he made a full turn, pulling his broomstick up as if to make another loop but turning in the process so he was facing the other direction and speeding towards the Snitch in mere seconds. Potter turned sideways and spotted the Snitch as soon as he was facing in the right direction, but he had lost precious seconds, and Draco closed his hand around the little golden ball with fluttering silver wings with a cry of triumph.

Potter held out his hand with a brilliant smile, and congratulated him.

"Thanks, Potter," Draco said, giving his hand a short but vigorous shake.

They landed next to Blaise and dropped their brooms on the ground, panting and shaking from the exertion. Then Potter straightened up and looked at Draco.

"That really was some amazing flying. It's been ages since I had this much fun. We should do this again some time."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter suspiciously but he saw nothing but sincerity in his face. Then he smiled and nodded. "That sounds like a good idea, Potter. I'd like that."

"Maybe you should call me Harry, then."

Draco stiffened, and the silence between them lengthened while Potter looked at him with a challenging smile. Blaise looked between the two of them but didn't say a word. He had to let the two school rivals sort this out among themselves.

"And maybe you can call me Draco, then. Harry." Draco tried, and the name felt foreign on his tongue.

Then Potter - Harry - clapped him on the back and turned to Blaise, asking if he could freshen up somewhere before facing the women again, and Blaise gestured towards the Manor with a sarcastic smile.

Potter - Harry - started walking towards the house, and Draco and Blaise followed a few paces behind.

"What in the name of Salazar do you think you were doing?" Blaise hissed suddenly in Draco's ear. Draco raised a questioning eyebrow and said, coolly, "I have no idea what you mean, Blaise."

"Were you trying to bloody kill yourself? Merlin's balls, where did those moves come from? You haven't flown in ages. You'd never flown on that broom, and you go feinting at such a speed the first time you're up. What the hell were you playing at?"

Draco shrugged. "I was just flying, Blaise. Don't worry about me, I know what I'm capable of on a broom."

"You're lying." Blaise said it with such quiet conviction it almost made Draco react. Almost. But he managed to just shrug again and changed the subject.

"I'll go to the Lodge to change. Your mother invited me for dinner tonight. I'll see you then, Blaise." He hurried up to Potter - Harry - and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks again for the game, P… Harry. I'm going to the Lodge now but I'll see you again later," he said, determined not to let this new friendship peter out right away by disappearing without taking leave.

Harry nodded and said his goodbyes, and Draco apparated to his room.

He collapsed on his bed, mind reeling. Maybe getting part of his inheritance back. Hermione hating him. Potter - Harry! - offering not just kindness but friendship. His father gone. His mother abroad. The Zabinis practically adopting him. He wondered how all these contradicting feelings didn't make his head explode. But that exhausting flying session had taken the edge off, and Draco knew, somehow, that he'd be able to deal with it.

* * *

Draco changed into formal robes and apparated into the Manor's hallway. Normally he liked the walk along the driveway, but the weather had changed into another stormy night, and the rain was pelting down with a vengeance. He heard laughter and voices from the sitting room, and only had a moment to realise Mrs. Zabini had more guests - he suspected he knew which guests - and put his social face in place before Blaise walked out to greet him.

"There you are Draco, come in. Drink before dinner? Elven wine?"

There was a coolness to his manner Draco could not ignore, but he knew it was neither the time nor the place to talk about it. So he nodded easily, as if nothing was amiss, and followed Blaise into the sitting room. A quick glance around the room told him the Potters, Weasley, and Granger were all in attendance, but he directed his steps to his hostess first.

"Signora, you look more radiant than ever," he said, placing a kiss on the back of her hand with a bow.

"Caro, always so kind," the lady responded with a twinkle in her eye. Then he turned to Flora, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and nodding amiably at her companions. "Flora, Mrs. Potter, Miss Granger. Weasley." He managed a cordial tone, but only just. Weasley was sitting too close to Hermione for his comfort, but he turned away from them and headed over to Blaise and Harry, who were standing near the drinks cabinet. Blaise held out a glass of ruby red wine, and Draco gratefully accepted. He'd need alcohol to survive this evening.

"Harry, I hope you have no negative consequences from our flying earlier? I admit my shoulders are a little stiff. I daresay I'm out of practice," Draco said, only to be interrupted by Ronald Weasley. "Harry? You're calling him Harry? What flying?"

A look of long suffering flitted over Harry's face but it was gone before Draco could quite pinpoint it. "Draco, Blaise, and I went flying this morning while Luna and Hermione were visiting the gardens," Harry explained, then purposefully turning his back on Weasley and picking up their conversation again.

"I'm a little sore, I can say that much. But I would not have said you are out of practice, after those moves you showed today. If that is out of practice, I wonder what you fly like when you are in good form."

"Death-defying moves," Blaise concurred, with a pointed look Draco ignored.

"You must come over again, and see, Harry. Do you have time next week?"

"Wednesday evening, maybe? I should see what Luna says, but I think we're free."

"I did not realise your days were so full."

Draco managed to keep the scathing tone out of his words, but only just. This friendship-with-Potter thing was too new and he fell into old habits too easily. But Harry only laughed uncomfortably and muttered something about the Ministry keeping him occupied. Draco wanted to ask more, but a house elf popped into the room and announced dinner was ready.

Draco glanced over at Hermione and saw her lips pursed in disapproval, and he knew she was refraining to comment on the rights of house elves with difficulty.

Mrs. Zabini called Draco over to her. "Will you take me into the dining room, caro? And maybe Blaise can take Miss Granger, Mr. Potter my daughter, and Mr. Weasley Mrs. Potter?"

Draco stepped up to her and offered his arm with a flourish.

"It would be my honour and my delight to accompany you to dinner, bellissima Signora," he said with a wink. Mrs. Zabini laughed lightly and they led the way out to the dining room.

They were seated as they came in, Mrs. Zabini at the head of the table, with Draco on her right, then Luna Potter and Weasley. Zabini sat at the other end with Hermione on his right, then Flora and Harry. Draco was relieved Weasley was sitting out of his line of sight, and he could ignore Hermione if he focused his conversation on Mrs. Zabini and Harry. The first part of the meal went on pleasantly enough, but then the talk seemed to change to the War, and Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"We are all so grateful you managed to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Zabini remarked, and Harry flushed.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I cannot accept the honour by myself. I could not have done it without my friends."

"There are so many stories going around why it took so many years to defeat him. Can you not tell us a little bit more about what happened?" Flora asked, with breathless interest.

Harry seemed to flush even more, and Hermione took over the conversation.

"Voldemort had created… artifacts which helped him stay in power. We had to find them and destroy them all. We had to do it alone, the three of us, we couldn't trust anyone, not really. It took us a long time to find everything. It wasn't easy, being on the run all the time. Then Ron spent some time with the Order while we continued searching. "

She looked at Harry, and Weasley blushed, an angry glint in his eyes.

"We managed, Hermione. We all had our difficult moments but we managed," Harry said, soothingly, pointedly not looking at Weasley either. Draco's eyes darted between the three of them, and he realised Weasley spending time with the Order was something of a sore point between them, and by the narrowing of Hermione's eyes and the set of her mouth, he knew she had not forgiven him for it.

"We were caught a couple of times but we managed to escape, luckily," Hermione said, her voice steady, but her left arm trembling and her right hand stroking her it comfortingly. It seemed an unconscious gesture, and Draco didn't understand why her eyes flared up with anger when looking at him. He looked down at his plate now, and pretended to cut another piece of turkey, though the last bite had already tasted like ashed in his mouth.

"And once the last artifact was destroyed, Harry managed to kill him in battle," Hermione concluded, and Draco knew there were a lot of details she had not told them, and was not planning on telling them. They were all silent, caught up in their own thoughts.

"You were so brave, and only children, really. I'm afraid I wasn't half so brave as to engage in the War, and I sent my children to my mother's family in Italy to keep them out of the way. I know it must seem cowardly next to your actions, but it was the only way I could imagine protecting my family," Mrs. Zabini said quietly.

Harry reached for her hand, while Draco reached for the other, and both men squeezed reassuringly.

"I do not blame anyone for not fighting, Mrs. Zabini. The war happened, there were many casualties, but now it's over. It's over and we must build our society again, on a foundation of trust and respect, and we cannot do that if we keep blaming people because of past action, or inaction. Many people did not fight and just tried to live their lives. Maybe the War could have ended sooner if more people had fought. Maybe there would only have been more deaths, more families destroyed, more children without parents and parents who lost their children. It was what it was, and we can only move forward," Harry said gently.

"And at least you did not make your son do unspeakable things," Draco muttered in her ear, so quietly only she heard it.

Then Weasley decided to speak up, and with a triumphant glare at Draco, he said, "It is more cowardly to join the Death Eaters than to hide to keep your family safe."

A tense silence fell after his words, an uncomfortable silence that stretched longer and longer as people struggled to think of what to say. Weasley's blue eyes glittered with challenge and defiance. Draco lifted his head away from Mrs. Zabini and turned to meet Weasley's glare, moving so slowly as if he was petrified. He could feel every muscle in his body stiffen. Mrs. Zabini had turned her hand and now gripped his in a painfully tight hold. Luna, on his other side, had placed a hand on his arm, a feather-light touch that seemed to ground him more than Mrs. Zabini's stranglehold.

Draco met Weasley's eyes and said nothing. He was still turning over possible responses in his head when an unexpected voice defended him.

"You should be the last to make comments about cowardly behaviour, Ronald," said Hermione coldly, and as Weasley swung his gaze towards her, Blaise added, "You have no idea what you're talking about, Weasley, and you will refrain from insulting our guests, or you will no longer be welcome here. I believe we warned you once before, there will be no third warning."

Draco turned back, taking a deep breath.

"Will you excuse me for a moment, Signora," he said, sliding his chair backwards and standing up.

"Of course, caro," Mrs. Zabini waved him away, and Draco walked stiffly out of the dining room, his movements mechanical and slow and his back ramrod straight. He could feel the eyes of every single person in the room on him but he did not look back.

Draco found his way to the empty drawing room, closed the door behind him, and sagged against it with a deep sigh. He knew this was the kind of reaction he should have expected, but Potter's willingness to offer the hand of friendship and the Zabinis' kindness had lulled him into a sense of security that was clearly unrealistic. He hated that people still seemed to think he had taken the Mark willingly, had tortured and killed willingly. He had been too weak to withstand the Imperius, and it killed him inside knowing he should have been able to do that, if only he'd had a little more determination, if only he'd tried a little harder. A nasty voice in his head suggested he never managed to break free because he had not wanted it enough, because maybe, some part of him, had wanted to be that Death Eater after all, and Weasley's accusations hit that sore spot with immaculate precision.

* * *

It took a long time to compose himself, but when he followed the chatter and noise to the sitting room, he noticed Weasley was no longer among the guests. Instead, the young people were moving the furniture out of the way for an impromptu dance, and Mrs. Zabini had brought the piano out. Draco looked at it longingly, he had not played in years, and when the lady saw his look, she motioned for him to play, settling herself on one of the nearby settees that had been pushed aside.

"Please, Draco, caro, it would please me so if you would play a little. My fingers are not what they once were, and I remember how delightfully you play."

Draco accepted gracefully and started playing a minuet. Flora accompanied him on the harp, and the two couples on the dance floor let the music guide them. Harry and Luna danced together, inventing their own steps and following their own rhythm. Hermione and Blaise, on the other hand, danced very gracefully together, laughing and talking through the dance.

"They make a handsome couple, do they not?" Mrs. Zabini said conversationally, when Draco had moved on from the minuet to a reel and then a waltz.

Draco nodded. "Luna and Harry seem to be made for each other. They dance to their own tune, but it seems to be a symphony, against all the odds."

Mrs. Zabini laughed. "I meant Blaise and Miss Granger."

Only muscle memory prevented Draco from playing a cacophony of wrong notes as the notion hit him like a bludger in the stomach.

"I had not thought of them that way, but they do dance beautifully together," he managed to say, and he was proud that the steadiness in his voice did not betray the whirlwind of emotions inside.

"She would be quite the catch. But we'll see, no need to encourage anything. They have time to get to know each other, and who knows what may happen."

Draco only nodded and tried to concentrate on the music, but with blood was roaring in his ears and his fingers started trembling from the exertion. Luckily the dance came to an end soon, and he excused himself to go home.

"I really, really cannot take many more of these days," he muttered to himself as he walked home through the storm, strong winds and the battering ice cold rain numbing every feeling in his body.

* * *

 _Reviews are like honey in my tea and sunshine on a rainy day... Please let me know what you think!_


	9. former affections wither

**9\. ...former affections wither**

Draco needed some time to himself after the disastrous dinner and he managed to avoid Blaise and his family for three full days. He filled his time going through paperwork that might help with the second hearing, which was scheduled for the upcoming Friday, and he pretended this meant he wasn't really avoiding anyone, but just too busy to see them.

On Wednesday morning, however, Blaise visited the Lodge after breakfast.

"What have you been doing with your time? We've hardly seen you at the Manor," he said, his tone between complaint and rebuke. Draco smiled and gestured at the desk in the corner of his sitting room. "I've been going through some business papers for Goldstein. I cannot say too much about it because I do not want to jinx our endeavours. But I'll be able to tell you more soon, I promise. How have you been?"

Blaise smiled, a goofy, happy, blinding smile that made Draco's stomach drop. "I've been spending time with Miss Granger," he said, with a happy little sigh, "Draco, she's so wonderful. So funny and smart, and so adorably… Gryffindor! She's so passionate about what she believes is right, and when she launches into an argument about something she cares about, her eyes start glittering like amber in the sun, and her hair almost crackles with magic… I think I'm in love, Draco."

Draco's face was frozen in a too tight smile. One hand clenched into a fist, but the rest of his body was so consciously relaxed his muscles strained with the effort. "I cannot believe you fell for her so quickly," was all he said, in as casual a tone as he could muster.

"How could I not," Blaise exclaimed, oblivious to the tension in Draco's shoulders and the gritting of his teeth. He continued extolling her virtues and recounting all the times they had met for walks, or to practise duels, or just to talk, and Draco made all the right noises and faces, while inside, his heart seemed to be suffering from a Cruciatus Curse, all on its own.

Only years of pureblood upbringing allowed him to hide his true feelings so completely that not even Blaise noticed he was teetering between murder and suicide with every word the other man added to his story. And when Blaise happily told him he would not join Draco and Harry that evening because Hermione would be visiting his mother, and he wanted to spend time with her, Draco knew this flying session would be as lethal as the previous one had been.

* * *

Draco met Mrs. Zabini on his way to the Quidditch pitch and of course he stopped to greet her. Soon the subject changed from the usual niceties to the one Draco had been hoping to avoid.

"Did I not tell you Miss Granger and Blaise made a handsome couple? They have been spending so much time together, and they get along so well. Oh, I'd be so happy for my son to finally settle down, and she is such a wonderful woman. Do you not think they'd be so happy together? Oh Draco, caro, I cannot tell you how it satisfies my motherly worries to finally see my son serious about a relationship. I'm sure he'll initiate the traditional courting soon; he's probably just gauging how she would feel about that. She's Muggleborn, after all, she might not be familiar with our customs."

"I'm sure Miss Granger has knowledge of all Wizarding customs, Signora. After all, she was brought up by the Potters," Draco reassured her. Then he tried to make his excuses as fast as he could, because he could feel the emotions start to bleed through his mask of polite interest.

* * *

Harry met him on the Quidditch pitch, carrying two brooms.

"I believe this one is yours, Draco," he said, tossing Draco's own Starlight at him. Draco caught the broom on reflex and looked surprised. "It _is_ mine," he confirmed.

"Good," Harry said, "Then you can have it. Brooms enough at that gloomy old manor, I'm sure one will not be missed."

"Can you just do that?" Draco asked, unsure, but unable to stop himself from stroking the sleek wood, enjoying the comfortable weight and feel of a broomstick that was as much an extension of him as his wand.

"Well, the Ministry gave that Manor and all its contents to Ron and me, so I think that means I can give you one of my possessions. Consider it an offering of friendship."

"You do not need to do this. Not even as an offering of friendship."

"I know," Harry interrupted, "but I want to. To make up for Ron's behaviour. He did not know about the trial, but that is no excuse. It was out of line."

Draco snorted, swung his leg across his broom and pushed off, ascending slowly. Harry joined him within seconds.

"How could he not know? The Prophet was filled with articles about my trial for weeks," Draco wondered aloud.

"He and Hermione were abroad at the time. It takes a long time for news to travel to the colonies, if they even choose to report on what happens here," Harry explained.

"What were they doing in America? Chasing Death Eaters?"

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. "No, they were there on personal business. It's not my story to tell. Ron came back a few weeks after the commotion around your trial died down, and then he was swept up in post-War celebrations and some family issues, and I guess he was never told because everyone assumed he knew, and he never cared enough about you to ask."

"And what did Miss Granger mean when she said he was the last person to talk about cowardice?"

Harry looked even more uncomfortable now. He glanced at Draco in the quickly fading daylight, and then something changed in his face and Draco knew he had taken a decision.

"I'm telling you this in confidence, Draco," he began, and Draco nodded. "When we were hunting for… those artifacts, Ron had a really difficult time. At some point he left us. Hermione and I were alone for months before he came back. She has never forgiven him."

They flew a couple of lazy circles around the pitch and then Draco broke the silence. "Shall we get started with our game then, Potter, or do you want to fly like an old croon for the rest of the evening?"

"Game on, Malfoy. Do you have the Snitch?"

Draco felt around in his robe pocket and produced the Snitch. He spelled it to glow faintly, so they could continue playing in the dark, and let it go on the count of three.

Their game was as wild and reckless as the last, and this time Harry caught the Snitch seconds before Draco. They descended again, laughing like children, and lay down on their backs, looking up at the night sky.

"I haven't looked at the stars in years," Draco said softly.

Harry chuckled. "I saw too much of them for the past years, camping out all the time."

They were silent for a while. Then Draco spoke again.

"The past few years, the War, it's all a blur to me. Some things I remember with absolute clarity, and sometimes there are long stretches of time I can't remember at all. You know what's really so bad about the Imperius curse? You know what you're doing. You know exactly what you're doing but you're powerless to stop yourself. And you remember. Those who pretend they don't, they lie. I remember so much. Too much. And yet those black holes, those empty stretches on the timeline. They scare me. The Cruciatus Curse made me black out, you see. And if my father put me under the Imperius as soon as I woke up, I did things I couldn't remember later. I know it happened, because my mother would refer to conversations I could not recall. It took me a while to realise what was happening."

Harry was quiet, unsure why Draco was speaking and curious to know where this was leading.

"I believe something like that was said at your trial, too," he muttered, encouragingly.

Draco only sniffed disdainfully.

"Saturday, when Miss Granger said you'd been captured, she glared at me, like she held me responsible for whatever happened. Did I… Did I do anything to her?"

Draco swallowed and held his breath as he waited for Harry's answer. He really did not want to know, fearful as he was that the answer would be in the affirmative, but at the same time he _had_ to know, because his nightmares had become worse every night since that evening.

Harry sighed. "You did not. Your aunt, your father, yes, but not you. We were captured and taken to the Lestrange House. Your aunt Bellatrix and her husband were there, and so were your parents. They… they tortured her. Bellatrix carved 'Mudblood' in her arm with a cursed blade. She usually hides it under a Glamour to avoid attracting any attention, but of course she knows it's there. They held her under the Cruciatus Curse until she could no longer scream. She was near death when we finally managed to escape."

Draco swallowed painfully and let his breath escape into the night. "I see."

"She does not blame you, not really. At least, maybe she did, somewhat, but not any more, now she knows about what really happened to you during the War. But you look a lot like your father, Draco, and sometimes she's reminded of him, and by proxy, of Bellatrix and the never fading scar on her arm."

They were quiet for a long time. Draco mulled over Harry's words in his mind, feeling enraged and helpless at the same time. If his aunt had not died, and his father had not received the Kiss, he would have chased them down and killed them himself.

Eventually, Draco was the first to break the silence again. "Why did you reach out to me? There was no need to pursue this friendship as you did. You could have gotten away with being merely civil, even if you did become friends with Blaise. And you have just told me many more details than Miss Granger was willing to share at dinner last Saturday. Why are you doing this?"

Harry chuckled. "I think you deserve a second chance. A real second chance. So I wanted to let bygones be bygones, and extend the hand of friendship that I once scorned, in the hopes of making it up to you. Everything I told you tonight, I told you in confidence, because I trust you will not run to the Prophet with this information."

"Thank you," Draco said, quietly. Then, a little louder, "I think it is time for me to go back to the Lodge. Thank you for tonight, Potter - Harry. Sorry, it seems that when it comes to Quidditch, you will always be Potter."

"I can live with that. I suppose I better go find out what Luna and Hermione have been up to. Same time next week, Draco?"

"Same time next week," he confirmed, and he Disapparated with a pop.

* * *

Draco cursed loudly. He hadn't slept at all after his talk with Potter. Understanding now what the Trio had gone through during the War, imagining the torture Hermione had endured, had kept him up all night. He'd been in a foul mood that morning, so when Mrs. Zabini firecalled him and asked him if he had time to take care of an infestation of Cornish Pixies in the Winter Garden the house elves could not deal with, he agreed all too readily, grabbing his wand, eager to blast his frustration and anger away at the Pixies.

That had been his intention, at least. The pests were a lot more ingenious than Draco remembered them to be, and although he had managed to blast a number of them into oblivion, somehow they had managed to organise and coordinate an attack on him, during which he'd lost his wand, making him effectively defenseless. They were dragging him up in the air by his ears and nose, some viciously biting into his legs and arms while avoiding his flailing hands and kicking feet.

"Gerrof you cursed creatures! Morgana's tits, let go!" he yelled, knocking another two out with his fists. Then, all of a sudden, the critters froze in the air and he was picked up by a gentle levitation charm and guided back down.

Draco massaged his ears, nose, and jaw, all stiff from the strain of holding his entire body weight, and turned around, fuming at the Pixies and mortified that anyone had seen him in this situation. He blinked when he saw Hermione standing behind him, wand in hand, guiding all the petrified Pixies into a protective bubble, which she then vanished with a flick of her wand.

"Your wand is over there," she said, pointing at the wood sticking out of the mud. "You had better burn the nest or they might come back."

Then she turned around and left. Draco stared after her, equal parts confused and mortified. The mortification soon turned to frustration and the _Incendio_ he cast to destroy the Pixie nest conjured flames that burned brighter than Fiendfyre.

* * *

The second hearing at the Wizengamot went better than the first. Though most of the Wizengamot members still regarded him with disdain, they at least gave the impression of listening to Goldstein's arguments, and he and the Ministry prosecutor moved around in what seemed like a carefully choreographed dance. Yielding a little on one subject, then seeming completely unmovable on another, Draco was impressed by the skilled verbal fencing in the courtroom, and even more impressed that the Wizengamot didn't seem to notice the little communications between the two Arguers, a flick of one hand, a touch to the nose or an almost imperceptible nod that made the other interrupt with counter-arguments or give in with exasperation. It was fascinating to watch, and Draco was surprised when the Head of the Wizengamot stood up and announced the date for closing arguments, one week hence.

"That was interesting," he murmured at Mr. Goldstein as they were packing up their parchments.

"Wasn't it just?" Mr. Goldstein said in a non-committal voice.

They seemed to linger for longer than was necessary, and when the last of the Wizengamot members had filed out, the Ministry Arguer came up to them, extending a hand to his opponent. "Brilliant act, Mr. Goldstein. Pleasure, as always. Mr. Malfoy, good luck next week."

Draco shook the hand, a little surprised, but he said nothing.

"I think we can both be satisfied, Mr. Bones," Mr. Goldstein said as he clasped the other man's hand in his. "You will contact me, I trust," he added, with a slight twitch in his left eye that might have been a wink, or maybe was just a nervous tick. And Mr. Bones smiled, nodded, and made his way out of the courtroom.

Draco and Mr. Goldstein left soon after, silently climbing up steep staircases and walking through the endless corridors towards the Atrium. Draco tried to ignore the stares and hostile whispers that followed him around, and with each audible comment about Death Eater spawn and criminals walking free, he stiffened and straightened up a little more, his face a mask of aloofness and disdain. Then he heard someone call his name.

"Draco! One moment!"

He turned around and saw Harry and Weasley walk in his direction. Weasley was scowling but Harry seemed to look surprised yet genuinely happy to see him. Draco noticed that the whisperers had fallen silent as the Boy Who Lived approached the former Death Eater, and everyone was staring at them with apprehension and barely concealed excitement. Even those who had pretended not to notice him earlier were now openly staring, and Draco was sure they were hoping for a confrontation of some sort. He did not need Goldstein's hand on his shoulder to remind him he was in public and that whatever happened now would have repercussions on his case, the Ministry gossip mill being what it was.

"Harry, nice to see you again," Draco said amiably, stepping away from Goldstein and clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Weasley," he nodded at the redhead, with as much civility as he could manage.

"Are you joining us this Saturday? We thought we'd go explore the countryside around the Zabini estate, take a walk to the nearby village or something like that. Hermione and Blaise have it all planned out," Harry said, as he fell into step beside Draco and walked towards the Atrium with him. Goldstein and Weasley followed them, one glowering, the other with a calculating look.

Draco had no particular desire to spend time with Blaise and Hermione, but he also did not want to suddenly lose the only friends he had, so he knew he'd have to find a way to cope with seeing them happy together. And the best way he could think of was to expose himself to the sight of them as often as possible, so he could become hardened to the pain it caused him. So he accepted Harry's invitation as gracefully and sincerely as he could, especially after Harry had added, very casually, that Weasley couldn't join them because he was visiting his family at the Burrow for his mother's birthday celebrations. And though he had looked very innocent and spoken with such indifference, Draco knew the message was meant to set him at ease, and not for the first time he wondered why Harry was taking such trouble with him, and seemed to be turning away from the redhead who had been his best friend for years. Maybe that was a subject for another post-Quidditch conversation, he thought wryly, as the two of them continued to talk easily all the way to the Floo grates in the Atrium, ignoring the many more people who had stopped dead in their tracks to stare at the company the Chosen One was keeping. Then Harry turned back with Weasley, with a quick wave and smile over his shoulder, and Draco traveled to Goldstein's office by Floo.

"You have not mentioned before that you were friends with Harry Potter," the other man began once they were comfortable seated.

"It's a recent development," Draco said.

"We could use him. If he was sat behind you for the closing arguments next week, it would send a very powerful message to the Wizengamot. Of course your friendly conversation in the Ministry corridors will have spread like Fiendfyre already, and I'm sure it will sway some of the Members of the Wizengamot, but if it remains just a rumour, it may not convince them as thoroughly as if they'd see it themselves. And who knows how this tidbit of news is going to change in a week's time. Ask him. He will not need to say anything, just sit there. I'll get in touch with Bones so we can tune our arguments to each other."

Draco stared at him in surprise. "I noticed you were communicating with him in the courtroom. Was it all completely orchestrated?"

Goldstein sent him a cold smile. "Bones and I go back a long time, Mr. Malfoy. He was the one who told me that certain forces within the Ministry were amenable to making some kind of restitution to you for the unfair impact your father's sentence has had on you. But those forces within the Ministry prefer not to show their hand for fear of public repercussions, and the Wizengamot dislikes being called out on their unfair decisions, so we grovel and beg and argue as they expect of us and make them think it's all their own magnanimity and condescension that allows you some reprieve. We've played this game before, and we've always achieved justice, Mr. Malfoy. We won't fail this time."

Draco shot him a look of understanding and turned back to the parchments he had placed on the desk. "Do you need my help with this?"

"Not yet. I'll get back to you some time next week, so we can discuss the details of the agreement. Go home, Mr. Malfoy, and enjoy your the rest of your day. I hear the weather is quite nice in Hertfordshire."

Draco took his leave and returned to the Lodge, wondering if this endeavour seemed to be going so well only because his heart was in constant agony. At least now he had some time to mentally prepare for the sight of Hermione and Blaise together, and he hoped seeing them often would, indeed, help him accept it.

* * *

The time for the dreaded exploration of the village nearby came sooner than Draco would have liked, but he put on a brave facade and was ready and waiting for the rest of the group by the time they arrived at the Lodge. Hermione was walking arm in arm with Blaise, and Draco felt a stab at the thought that he had never had the opportunity - or courage - to walk around with her on his arm when he still had the right. But he shook the thought out of his head and tried to focus on the others in the group. Flora and Luna were chattering about Snorkacks and Dirigiplums, and Potter was walking behind them with a man Draco vaguely recognised as the younger MacMillan boy, who was courting Flora.

"Is that what you are wearing?" Hermione asked, her eyes flicking over his robes with disdain.

Draco looked down, then at the others in the party, and realised they were all wearing Muggle clothes.

"We're going to a Muggle village," Blaise clarified with a shrug. Harry stepped up and coughed, embarrassed. "My fault, I forgot to tell him," he muttered, and Draco shot him a grateful smile before sliding his wand out of his sleeve and transfiguring his robes into a woolen greatcoat and his dragonhide boots into black leather ones.

"Better?" he asked, looking at Hermione and ignoring the others. Her eyes flashed with annoyance, and she turned away without answering.

"Shall we go?" Blaise said, leading them all to the gates. Draco put his wand back in his sleeve, and Hermione turned on him again.

"You're taking your wand? We just said we're going to a Muggle village. You can't do magic there."

Draco blinked in confusion. "You're going without your wands? Is that safe?"

"It's not like the big bad Muggles will burn you at the stake, Malfoy," Hermione bit out, stalking away. Blaise shot him an exasperated look and ran after her.

Draco turned to Harry, his face flushed. "I didn't mean… Not the Muggles. Death Eaters still free… People wanting revenge… I just… I don't feel safe without my wand, that's all."

Harry nodded, understanding. "Blaise said the village is still under the Fidelius, just like the Zabini estate, so it should be safe. But I don't mind if you want to take your wand. I've taken mine, you know. Hermione can be a bit… Sometimes it's better to pretend you go along."

Draco stared after Blaise and Hermione, who were now waiting impatiently at the gate. The others in the group were already walking up to them, MacMillan gallantly offering an arm to both Luna and Flora.

"Come on, Draco, they're waiting. Unless you're scared of the big bad Muggles…" Harry said with a smile.

"In your dreams, Potter," Draco snapped, though it wasn't as angry as he would have liked and his lips almost twisted in an answering smile.

* * *

The walk to the village was uneventful. The group was overawed by the lovely landscape: yellow, golden, and orange hues, interspersed with the occasional burst of red, and breathtaking views over the hills. Draco enjoyed the walk, though he refrained from engaging in any conversations. They climbed over stiles and jumped over puddles in the path, and eventually arrived at a small Muggle village with honeystone cottages along the streets and a little square with an inn and a milliner's shop. They decided to split up; Harry and Luna explored the village together, and Flora and Tobias Macmillan entered the milliner's shop. Draco had no idea where Blaise and Hermione had gone, and he tried very hard not to think of what they might be doing or saying. He walked around a little, but then his ankle started hurting - an old Quidditch injury that had worsened under the strain of the Cruciatus and occasionally played up - and he looked around for a place to sit. He found a bench sheltered by some hawthorn bushes and sat down, resting his ankle on his knee. He looked out over a lawn where children were running around, laughing carefree and happy, and wished he could go back to a time when he was the same. Voices interrupted his train of thoughts.

"I really thought he'd changed, you know, but then he makes a comment like that and I'm reminded of the prejudiced boy I knew in Hogwarts," said a voice that definitely sounded like Hermione.

"Draco's just Draco, you know, and much as I like him, I don't think he'll ever really change. He's so proud of his Pure lineage and he grew up in such a Muggle-hating society… I don't care much about these things, I mean, of course, I'm proud of my history, but everyone should be. I never despised Muggles, though. That's why we protected the village with a Fidelius. I see it as my duty to protect them where I can."

Draco flinched at Blaise's words.

"I'm surprised he has made no move to start courting your sister, then, if he's so keen on pure lineages."

Blaise laughed at that. "He knows her too well. I believe there was talk of him marrying some pureblooded witch at several times during the War, but they couldn't go through with it, of course. No marriage bond sticks if someone is under the Imperius, and I heard he refused quite vocally when they lifted that curse. I wish he'd had the presence of mind not to go home after Hogwarts, maybe he would have been spared those long years of torture."

"Perhaps he had other options, he just chose not to take them." Hermione's voice was cold, and Draco flinched again. No, she had not forgiven him.

The voices grew quieter as Blaise and Hermione walked on, neither of them having noticed him as they passed behind him, and Draco let the conversation replay in his head.

He was surprised Blaise thought he still adhered to the pureblood ideology, because Draco had stopped believing that drivel around his sixth year in Hogwarts. But it was true that he had never publicly opposed it, either. He also remembered the few marriage offers he had received during the War. Of course he had refused them. There was talk of Pansy Parkinson at some stage, and those negotiations had gone on for a long time, but Draco had steadfastly refused, and then she had disappeared, so the final contract was never signed. Then, of course, the Malfoys had fallen out of favour with the Dark Lord, so their son and heir was no longer a sought-after alliance in their circles, and those families that had remained neutral would not make the mistake of allying with known Death Eaters in the middle of a war that could still go either way. Now, after the Light side had won and the trials were over, his family was still in disgrace, so he did not anticipate any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to sully their families with such an alliance.

Draco shook his head in derision. Good riddance, too. He knew he still loved Hermione, and no woman would ever come close. But he was coming to terms with letting her go, really letting her go, and only hoped she would find the happiness he never could. Everything in her behaviour proved to him that she had not forgiven him, and she probably never would. That made it easier for him to lock his feelings for her far away in the deepest recesses of his heart.

* * *

The whole group met again on the square and was just preparing for the long walk back, when Mrs. Zabini bustled up to them, carrying numerous parcels.

" _Cari_ , what a surprise to see you here! I've been to the milliners, I needed some new fabric for a gown, what have you been doing? Oh, yes, lovely weather for a walk, it definitely is. I prefer to Apparate though, there's a nice secluded alley over there, the perfect spot. Oh, you didn't bring your wands? Well, you had better start walking back, then, it gets dark very early these days. Blaise, caro, would you mind carrying some of these back for me? I can't shrink them out here, someone might see, and I've so many I'm not sure I would not lose half my purchases mid-spin." She laughed and started handing over some of the parcels to her son, but Hermione took them away and held them out to Draco.

"You brought your wand, Mr. Malfoy, you could take them and Apparate to the Manor with Mrs. Zabini." Her eyes flicked at his ankle, and Draco flushed bright red.

"I'd be happy to carry them for you, Signora, but I would not want to miss out on a nice walk. This may well be one of the last beautiful days we have," Draco said, turning to Mrs. Zabini and feeling utterly mortified that Hermione seemed to think him too weak to walk back, even if his ankle did hurt like hell.

"Just apparate with the parcels, Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Zabini will be so happy to have all her purchases with her immediately," Hermione insisted, pushing the parcels into his hands and then steering him towards the alley. "Stop being stubborn, I saw you limp when you walked up just now. Apparate and spare your ankle before it gets worse," she hissed in his ear.

Then she turned around, took Blaise's arm and lead the way back to the footpath that would take them to Zabini Manor. Draco watched them go, saw Blaise put an arm around her waist and Hermione smile up to him, and swallowed. But instead of the sharp stabs of pain he had expected to feel in his heart, he only felt a ragged emptiness.

"Miss Granger is so considerate, such a wonderful girl. I'll be happy to have her join our family," Mrs. Zabini said, looking at the retreating the couples herself.

Draco conjured up a smile, offered his arm, and walked her into the alley. They Disapparated quietly, unnoticed by any Muggles. As Draco spun into place at the gates of the Zabini estate, he could not unsee the image of Blaise with his arm around Hermione Granger. He barely noticed the house elf that popped up next to him and took Mrs. Zabini's parcels from him, or that Mrs. Zabini herself was cheerfully counting the days until a marriage proposal could reasonably be expected. He only saw Hermione, and the smile that was no longer his.

* * *

 ** _AN: I know I promised more frequent updates - and truthfully they will be more frequent - so I want to apologise for not posting last week. I have the best excuse in the world, though, as I spent the whole week pretending to be a contemporary of Jane Austen at the Festival in Bath. I can now say, with Jane, who can ever tire of Bath? Unfortunately real life can only be put on hold for so long. Oh well._**

 ** _Thank you so much for all the reviews, they absolutely warmed my heart!_**

 ** _S_** ** _hout-out to my beta hobbit penguin - you're a darling - any remaining mistakes are my own._**

 ** _A good dose of angst in this chapter, right? I promise it will get better... eventually... I love reading what you think so please review!_**


	10. A trip to the Lakes

**10\. A trip to the Lakes**

 _Dear Son,_

 _I have moved to the house in Paris, as the vineyards will soon hibernate. The last of the grapes have been picked and the Elves assure me the quality of the wine will be exceptional this year._

 _I have been invited to several house parties since I came to Paris, the Montforts, Dammartins, and Amboises have welcomed me with open arms. I wish you would reconsider moving to France, Son, so we could continue our life on much the same footing as it was before the War, if in another country._

 _I've also reconnected with many old acquaintances. Do you remember Sylvie de la Trémoille? She and I were such good friends when we were younger. She has a lovely daughter, Aurélie, whom, I am sure, it would please you to know. So accomplished and so kind, such elegance one hardly sees even in the young ladies of our acquaintance in Britain.  
_

 _I do miss you, dearest Son, and I am considering a Yuletide visit. Surely you can accommodate your only living relation for a few days? I would so dislike for us to spend the holiday apart. Let me know when you have organised a Portkey._

 _With love_

 _Mother_

Draco rolled up the parchment with a sigh, and only just refrained from throwing it in the fire. She _would_ want to see him at Yule. The Lodge had a guest bedroom, so he would be able to accommodate her, but the prospect filled him with apprehension. Even just receiving a letter from her disrupted his peace, bringing back nightmares and bouts of anxiety he still found it hard to overcome.

But he shook off the reluctance and wrote the obligatory answer. Much as he would prefer not to see her, he was even less inclined to spend this Yule alone - or with just the Zabinis, now the relationship between Blaise and Hermione Granger seemed to be developing into something serious.

Draco hardly saw his friend these days, except when the Potters and Miss Granger also joined the family. Draco knew Blaise had been to Malfoy Manor several times to visit them, but the idea of going back there himself was too upsetting to consider. It was one thing to lose his childhood home, and knowing he could never have it back - not really wanting it back - but visiting others who had made it _their_ home was one step too far.

His friendship with Potter - Harry - was blossoming, and Draco enjoyed their weekly games. He'd entertained the Potters at the Lodge a few times, and he was enchanted by Mrs. Potter. She made the most ridiculous observations that somehow always seemed to be on point.

The first time he had invited Harry and Luna Potter over, she had walked into the sitting room, stopped right in the middle and just stood there, staring, turning slowly on her heel. Then she had smiled, in that vague way of hers, given him a tight hug and said, "The Wrackspurts won't stay forever, Draco, rest assured."

He'd blinked and Harry had chuckled, and that had launched a long conversation about creatures Draco was fairly certain did not actually exist. But at the end of the conversation, he'd understood that Wrackspurts apparently dwelled in the houses of those who are unhappy, as they thrive on negative emotions, and even if there were no such things, she had tried to comfort him and give him hope that life would get better soon.

Blaise seemed to be spending all his time with Miss Granger, and even Mrs. Potter had commented on the Nargles that were floating around their heads when they were together. Draco had become numb to any mention of Blaise and Miss Granger. He still felt a ragged tear where once his heart had been, and the first few times spent in their company had been agony. But the pain had dulled from sharp cuts to an almost mild discomfort when he was in their presence, and the occasional painful twinge when he recognised the smile she used to wear only for him. He could see them together and not feel jealous, or sad, or regretful. He had learned to accept that those dreams were over. He understood now that though she was not completely indifferent to his discomforts - she had, after all, defended him against Ronald Weasley, saved him from those blasted Pixies and pressed him to Apparate back to the Zabini estate when she'd noticed his limp - she had no intention of returning to the intimate footing they were once on.

The last hearing at the Wizengamot had gone well. Harry had accompanied him and just sat, quietly, behind Draco during the presentation of the final arguments. Bones and Goldstein had adapted their speeches to one another, craftily pushing the Wizengamot towards a decision that the Ministry could live with and that would return Draco to a state of respectability and independence. The verdict had yet to be communicated, though, and Draco had the impression even the imperturbable Goldstein was getting a little anxious waiting for their decision. But waiting was all he could do, while October turned into November and the trees lost their lustrous colours in the autumn storms.

Just as Draco signed the letter to his mother, there was a knock on the door, and a few moments later, Blaise stepped into the sitting room.

"Draco! I hope I'm not interrupting?"

Draco rolled up the parchment and tied it to the leg of the waiting owl.

"Just sending a letter to Mother. She will be visiting in December."

"That is… unexpected."

Draco made a non-committal sound as he brought the owl to the window and cast warming and impervius charms on it. The owl hooted and nibbled one of his fingers affectionately and then flew away with a few strong beats of his wings.

"What brings you here?" he asked, turning to Blaise and motioning him to sit down in one of the armchairs near the fire. He poured them each a glass of firewhiskey and then settled into the opposite armchair.

"My mother came back today from visiting Theo and Daphne," Blaise said.

"Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass?" Draco interrupted, surprised.

"Daphne Nott, now, but yes. Theo is her godson, you know. They have just had their first baby, a little girl, Elladora. They live in the Lake District, some faraway village or other. My mother was waxing so lyrically about the place this afternoon, and the ladies and I are now so curious to see it that we put a scheme together to go visit the Notts for a few days. We would love for you to come along, I am sure Theo and Daphne would be thrilled to see you again, and a change of scenery will do us all good. Apparently, the landscape is pretty desolate so late in the year, but still beautiful in its bleakness."

Draco snorted. "No need to get lyrical yourself, Blaise. Who is going on this excursion?"

Blaise ticked them off on his fingers. "Well, me, of course, and the Potters and Hermione. Flora's staying behind, she had other plans. So, what do you say, are you coming, too?"

Draco considered the request. He would love to see Theo and Daphne, and their little girl, of course. He had not seen them since Hogwarts, but then, to be fair, he had not been in touch with many of his friends during the War, and those he _had_ seen, he never wanted to see again. But it did mean being in close quarters with Hermione Granger for longer than a few hours. He hesitated, but his desire to reconnect with his friends was too great.

"Yes, of course, I'd love to see Theo and Daphne again. When are we leaving?"

* * *

They left on Friday morning. Theo had sent them a Portkey, since none of them had ever been to his house before, and they arrived at the Nott's house in the pouring rain. Theo had been waiting for them and quickly cast a couple of rain repellent charms on his guests before ushering them into the drawing room.

"Blaise, wonderful to see you again, it really has been too long. Who did you bring?"

Blaise introduced him to Hermione Granger and the Potters, and then gestured at his oldest friend.

"You remember Draco, of course."

"Malfoy. Yes." Theo sounded cool and uninterested.

"He has been living at the Lodge since his father's sentence was executed. You know they confiscated all the Malfoy properties and gave Lucius the Kiss? No extenuating circumstances, he kept Draco under the Imperius curse for years, so he was responsible for his own crimes as well as his son's. I'm only sorry I never tried to get him out of there," Blaise said, correctly deducing that his friend was less than pleased to have a former Death Eater in his house.

Nott's whole demeanor changed at Blaise's explanation, though.

"The Imperius?" he whispered. Draco could feel the gaze of everyone in the room on him, but he focused his eyes on Theo Nott.

"You know what my father was like, Nott," he said, with wry humour. "If it wasn't the Imperius, it was the Cruciatus. Never one to avoid the Unforgivables, old Lucius." He was sure he heard a gasp from somewhere in the room, but he refused to look away.

Theo crossed the space between them in a few steps and threw his arms around Draco.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," he said, his voice a little unsteady.

"Nothing you did," Draco muttered, patting Theo's shoulder awkwardly.

Then Theo let go, catching his gaze.

"No, Draco. I'm sorry I believed you were really one of them. I thought you'd changed your mind. I gave up on you. And I'm so sorry."

Draco blinked away the emotions that threatened to surface.

"It's in the past now, Theo, please do not mention it," he said, looking away uncomfortably.

The silence in the room was stifling until the soft cry of a baby reminded them that there were others in the house.

"My wife and her sister are in the nursery," Theo explained as he motioned for them to sit down. "The house elves will take your luggage up to your rooms, so sit down, have a drink, and tell me what has been happening."

The conversation flowed easily between them, though Draco kept to himself and mainly listened.

It transpired that Theo and Daphne Nott had married about a year after they graduated from Hogwarts. Theo had been afraid his father would make him join the Death Eaters, and had managed to convince him to put off his Marking until after the wedding, but on their wedding night, the couple disappeared. Daphne had chosen the house, an old, abandoned Muggle mansion in the Tudor style in a remote part of the Lake District. They put their home under the Fidelius Charm and had remained in hiding for the past five years.

A young woman he did not recognise entered the room, and Draco stood up, his upbringing demanding the courtesy. She looked familiar but he could not remember her name.

"Astoria, these are our guests. Maybe you remember them from Hogwarts? Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger, Luna Potter, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy. This is my sister-in-law, Astoria Greengrass." After Theo's introduction, Draco had a vague recollection of a whisp of a girl in Slytherin robes nagging Daphne in the common room, but he would never have made the connection otherwise. Though she had dark blond hair like Daphne, her face was rounder, her nose and mouth a different shape, and her eyes so dark they almost seemed black. She had an aura of sadness about her, and Draco thought she might have been attractive, if not for her depressing demeanor.

Draco discovered she had been living with the Notts for three years and had lost her fiance in the last few weeks of the War. He understood from Theo that the marriage had been arranged, but Miss Greengrass had taken the loss very badly, and still suffered from a broken heart and shattered dreams. She sat in a bay window a volume of poetry in her hand, staring out the window with a forlorn look on her face.

Daphne Nott joined the group soon after, holding her baby in her arms, and everyone gushed over the child, who had Theo's watery green eyes and Daphne's nose, or so they soon agreed. Draco really had no opinion on the matter, as all babies looked exactly the same to him. The baby sparked conversation about the Potters' family plans and barely veiled insinuations about Blaise and Hermione, each of them getting flustered and teasing back in turn. Although he didn't take part in the teasing, Draco enjoyed the easy banter of the others. It made his life almost feel normal. He could almost imagine himself back in the Slytherin common room, laughing and joking with his friends, before everything went wrong.

* * *

Draco had taken a dislike to Miss Greengrass on their first meeting, but because the others always walked together, he ended up as her companion on their walks and at meals. It only made him more resentful of her. She always wanted to discuss the gloomy poetry she was reading, and Draco had no patience for her affected voice and dramatic poses, so when she started up another conversation about the abysmal poetry she loved to read over dinner the next day, he cut her off quickly.

"I think you should perhaps read some more fiction novels, Miss Greengrass. I'm sure Theo and Daphne have books from writers other than these dreary poets. Maybe you will feel better about life if you read something with a happy ending?"

"Oh, I shall never feel happy about life again," Miss Greengrass sighed with resignation. "When my Monty died, so unfortunate, only two weeks before the final battle, you see, I knew I should never love again. These poems, they just express the feelings in my heart so well. It's like I can't put my emotions in words until I read these lines, and then I know, this, this is what I feel." She ended her statement with another dramatic sigh, to which Draco could only just refrain from rolling his eyes.

"I'm sure you will feel differently, if you start reading different books," Draco repeated with barely contained irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, how could you understand? You don't know what it is like to lose the love of your life, lose your reason to live. It's like I will never see the sun again, like birds will sing no more, I…"

"I understand better than you think," Draco interrupted coldly. "I can assure you I know what it's like to feel your heart being ripped out of your chest, piece by piece, as if you are caught in a never-ending Cruciatus Curse. But you mourn the loss of your dreams, not the loss of a person. You only talk of the life you will not have, not the man you'll never see again. Of course, losing someone means you lose the dreams of the life you were going to have together. But it also means you lose that person, you'll never see her smile again, you'll never hear her laugh, you'll never again hear her voice, urging you to do something or feel her hand in yours. You only have memories that cut through your heart every time you're reminded of her. That is not the pain you feel. Grow up, Miss Greengrass. You are still young and the world is at your feet. You have your life before you, now the War is over and your family name escaped untarnished. So go out and live, for Merlin's sake. Stop acting like the injured heroine in one of those cheap Veela romance novels."

Miss Greengrass shrieked angrily, flung her fork on the table and stormed off.

Silence rang heavy across the table, and Draco looked around, only to see everyone staring at him. Daphne held a hand over her mouth, to hide the smile she couldn't stop, Draco suspected from the sparkle in her eyes. Theo looked approving, Harry pitying and Mrs. Potter had a smile on her face that came close to a smirk - although Luna Potter never smirked. Draco reluctantly let his eyes travel to Hermione, but he was disappointed he could not read her reaction. She avoided his eyes, staring intently at her plate.

"I apologise," Draco began, but Theo cut in quickly. "There is no need. We've been trying to tell her this for months now. She never really knew Graham Montague, it was an arranged marriage. The Montagues and Greengrasses both tried to remain neutral during the War and they thought a marriage between the families would make them both stronger. Astoria had her head filled with romantic stories and fanciful ideas of their life together, and when he died, the dreams died with him. It's about time someone told her to stop acting like a child whose favourite toy was taken away. We've been far too lenient with her."

They shared a look of understanding and returned to the meal. Slowly conversation started again, but Draco could not pay attention. He was relieved his friends did not hold his outburst against him, but laying his emotions bare to the scrutiny of his friends, and seeing the reason for his pain sitting only a few seats away, knowing she must have heard his confession and understood what he meant, was beyond mortifying.

He excused himself after dinner, eager to escape the company of his friends, but he did not get away before promising to join the group on a country walk the next day.

* * *

 _ **AN: Persuasion lovers will excuse my butchering of the character of poor Captain Benwick, whose suffering I should never dream of treating lightly. But then he is not the only character I have turned upside down in this rendition, and he will not be the last...**_

 _ **Special thanks to hobbit penguin who beta'd for me, any remaining mistakes are my own.**_

 _ **Thank you so, so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! I love you all and I shall be responding soon.**_

 _ **Poor Draco. I am putting him through the wringer, aren't I?  
**_


	11. Misadventures

**11\. Misadventures**

A country walk, Draco soon found out, was not quite as much fun in reality as it had seemed in the comfortable glow of a fire the night before. He'd had the presence of mind to cast a warming charm when they set off, of course, and an impervius charm when it began to drizzle. But the ice cold November wind still cut through his warmest woolen cloak, and no sticking charm seemed capable of keeping his hair from flying into his face.

The Notts had promised the long walk up Scafell Pike was worth the trouble, as the view was amazing, and the group set out very cheerfully. Miss Granger and Blaise quickly took the lead, laughing and jumping over rocks and muddy puddles on the path. Mrs. Potter had smiled vaguely at Draco and taken Astoria Greengrass' arm, leaving Harry in Draco's company. Draco wasn't sure he managed to suppress the sigh of relief since Harry chuckled at him before following his wife, but he was so glad to have someone other than the annoying Miss Greengrass to talk to, that he hadn't bothered to feel offended.

The first half hour was agreeable enough, but once the drizzle started and the wind had turned into a full-blown autumn gale, Draco failed to see the purpose of fighting his way through the elements to enjoy the view from some remote place, highest point in England or not, and his mood quickly changed from amusement to irritation. Worse was that Potter seemed unperturbed and continued whistling happily as if he had not a care in the world. Somewhere along the way, the companions switched and Draco ended up with Mrs. Potter, who kept him entertained with talks of Wrackspurts and Nargles until they finally made it to the top of Scafell Pike.

Draco stepped up to the edge of the cliffs, inches from a fifty-foot drop, and had to admit that the view was worth the walk, if not the cold wind. He imagined it would look more beautiful in summer when the slopes of the hills were green and the water reflected the blue sky, but somehow the bleak and grey landscape soothed him. It looked just like he felt. Grim, grey, bleak, suspended between life and death, but somehow Draco could see the promise of life, of revival and spring, and he realised with a rueful smile that even _that_ was something that might apply to him. He laughed suddenly, freely and fully, and remained in his spot for a long time, staring at the dying landscape that promised life.

When he turned back to the group, he saw Miss Granger looking at him, and he smiled at her, a warm and open smile she couldn't help but return, and his eyes softened when he noticed, a reminder of a time when that smile had always been reserved just for him, but this time the memories didn't hurt. His smile turned nostalgic, for a moment, and he just nodded at her before turning away again, absorbing the landscape into his soul. It was as if he finally felt ready to let her go.

His peace of mind was soon disturbed by a clingy Miss Greengrass, who clutched his arm, shivering dramatically and demanding his attention in her whiny voice. Draco managed to remain civil, but he had a horrible feeling that the girl had redesigned her fantasies of married life with him in a lead role, and he wanted to discourage her as much as possible. _Even if I can never have the woman I truly love,_ he thought viciously, _I would rather die than settle for an annoying chit like_ her _._

"We should be heading back," Blaise yelled over the wind, gesturing wildly. "Mother is expecting us so we should leave shortly after noon. Maybe we should Apparate. The rain is not letting up."

Miss Granger shook her head and held out her arm stubbornly. "We walked up, we should walk down again. Surely we have time enough to finish our walk? I can withstand a little rain in order to enjoy these amazing landscapes. Come, Mr. Zabini, take my arm and let us walk. You will not let a little rain deter you, I hope!"

Draco looked up at the dark sky and the glistening path before them. He'd much prefer to Apparate, but if everyone was to walk… His decision was made for him when Astoria Greengrass took his arm and dragged him behind the other four people walking down already.

They descended carefully. Between their footsteps and the steady drizzle that, though light, soaked everything, the path had become very slippery. Luna Potter skipped down, seemingly oblivious to the danger of slipping, and Harry followed her with an agility and lightness of feet that Draco envied. Blaise and Miss Granger were walking down at a more sedate pace, he offering her help jumping over rocks and puddles, she accepting with a giggle and a blush. Draco was left with Miss Greengrass, who kept slipping in the mud and clutching at his arm to avoid falling. Draco sighed inwardly but allowed her to keep a firm grip as they slowly followed the others.

He was so concentrated on keeping both himself and Miss Greengrass upright on the slick path that he could never say afterwards what had alerted him to the danger. All at once there was a loud bang, like thunder all around them, the earth shuddered, and Draco threw himself and Miss Greengrass backwards with a hastily muttered _Protego_ to shield them. A seemingly unending avalanche of rocks and mud roared down the mountain, barely missing them, and then there was only silence. Deathly silence. Draco jumped up and started running and sliding down the path, dragging Astoria Greengrass with him, frantically looking around for his friends.

"Be safe, please be safe, where are you?" he muttered to himself. He wished he could yell their names but he was afraid the noise might cause more of the unstable mountain to slide down. Then he saw Hermione, petrified and white, standing next to a pile of rocks. His noisy arrival made her look back and seemed to shock her into action. She fell on her knees and started throwing rocks away.

"Blaise! Oh Blaise, oh Morgana, please… I couldn't save him, he was too far away, my shield didn't reach…" she babbled, crying and wiping the tears away with muddy hands. Draco put a hand on her shoulder and she stilled, tears still sliding down her now dirty cheeks.

"Don't throw the rocks, you'll cause another slide. Step back, Miss Granger, I'll move them."

He gently pushed her behind him, forcing himself to breathe steadily despite his racing heart. Blaise, under all those rocks? He couldn't possibly… Draco shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind, and concentrated on the spell.

" _Mobilipetrae_."

The mound of rocks moved up into the air, and Draco focused his eyes on them, afraid to see what had made Hermione gasp in horror. She tried to push past him but he flung out his free arm to stop her.

"Wait. _Suspendo_."

The rocks shuddered but remained up in the air. Draco swallowed, then looked down. Blaise was lying on the ground like a ragdoll, his limbs in strange angles, his head streaked with blood and rubble that stuck to the wounds. He saw Blaise's chest rise, if only a little, and breathed a sigh of relief. He pointed his wand at Blaise and cast a Stasis Spell. Hermione tried to go to Blaise again but he caught her around the waist and held her back.

"Miss Greengrass, get us a Healer, immediately. He's alive, if only barely, so hurry. I don't think it's safe to move him now." Astoria, though pale and clearly shaken, nodded and Disapparated with a loud pop. Hermione struggled in his arms, still trying to get to Blaise. "Hermione - no. I put up a Shield Charm and cast a stasis on him. Going near him may disrupt the balance. There is nothing we can do now."

She turned on him, fists hitting his chest with a dull thump and punctuating each word.

"You have to save him. Draco, you have to, please, save him, please." She started sobbing, and he held her, if only for a moment. Then he saw Harry and Luna Potter, both unscathed but shaken, staring in horror at the scene before them.

"We came back as soon as we realised there had been a landslide. What's… Is he…" Harry faltered, unable to say the words.

Draco shook his head, motioning the Potters to come closer. "Mrs. Potter, please take Miss Granger back to the Notts, tell them what happened. Miss Greengrass has gone to fetch a Healer. Harry, you stay here." He pushed Hermione into Luna's embrace, and as soon as she opened her mouth to protest, he said sharply, " Don't argue, Miss Granger. I promise. There's nothing you can do here, go."

After one last sad look towards Blaise, they Disapparated.

Harry had kneeled a little way away from Blaise and was shooting some diagnostical spell Draco hadn't heard before.

" _Vulnera revelio. Dolorem revelio._ Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Ripped spleen. Most bones broken. Fractured skull. It's a miracle he's still alive, Draco. What happened? I thought Nott had said this was a safe area?"

Draco sighed and sat down next to Harry to wait for the Healer.

"I'm not sure what happened," he said. "Miss Greengrass and I were walking some way behind them. There was a loud thunderclap, and the earth seemed to shudder, and I just pushed Miss Greengrass and myself back and cast a _Protego_ before I knew what I was doing. By the time my brain had caught up with my actions, the stones were rumbling down around us and I couldn't think of anything but keeping up my Shield Charm. The noise was horrendous." He shivered. "If I had moved even a second later, I'm sure we would have been under those rocks as well. As soon as it stopped I came running down to see if the others were safe. I saw Hermione but Blaise..." He looked up at the mass of rocks still hovering in the air above them. Harry looked up and shook away his discomfort.

"I moved the rocks and cast a _Stasis_ spell on him. It's all I can do until a qualified Healer looks at him. If I start shooting _Episky_ 's at him, his bones might set in the wrong way. At least he isn't hurting now."

"Luna and I heard the rumble, but the stones didn't come down where we were. We came back as quickly as we could, of course. You did well, Draco. You kept a cool head, you saved him."

"He's my friend. I couldn't let him die," Draco whispered, the realisation of what happened suddenly overwhelming him. He rested his forehead on his knees and took a deep breath. Much as he might have wished Blaise away from Hermione in the privacy of his own mind, he never wanted this. He didn't want to lose the only friend he had. He started when Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. _Maybe not the only friend_ , he thought wryly, _but I still cannot do without him._

A soft pop alerted him that someone had Apparated nearby and he quickly got to his feet. Astoria Greengrass was back, with a severe looking witch in green Healer robes. She flicked her eyes towards the two men, but quickly dismissed them, and then moved closer to Blaise. She waved and flicked her wand wordlessly, and pink streams of magic floated through the air and around Blaise's body.

"Who put the Stasis Charm on him?" she asked with a surprisingly soft voice.

"I did," Draco said.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy. You saved this young man's life. I will Portkey him to the Nott house. St. Mungo's is too far in this state, and Apparition would do more damage despite the Stasis. I can treat him there. He will be in a magical coma for a while and take a long time to recover, but I'm positive he will recover eventually." The Healer dug a small silver thimble out of her pocket, tossed it up, muttered a spell, put a hand on Blaise's arm and let the thimble fall back into her hand. They disappeared in a whirl of colour and movement.

"Can you Apparate us back to the house?" Harry asked Miss Greengrass, who still lingered behind them.

The young woman nodded, tightening the grip on her wand, and held out her arm. Harry placed one hand on it and looked at Draco, who was still staring at the blood that remained on the ground where Blaise had disappeared from only moments ago.

"Come on, Draco. Let's go," he said softly, and Draco nodded, walking backwards towards them and extending a hand until he touched Miss Greengrass' arm as well. His eyes stayed focused on the blood until she Apparated them away. They landed in front of the Notts' house, and Draco promptly vomited, the strain of Side-along Apparition combined with the view of Blaise's bloody and broken body that was etched into his memory too much for him.

* * *

They all waited in the hall outside Blaise's room, slumped on chairs or leaning against the wall. House elves popped up regularly trying to convince them to drink some fortifying soup or eat some bread or cold meats, but Draco refused each time. Then the door opened, and the Healer stuck her head out. Her eyes slid across the distressed faces until they fastened on Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, can you step in here for a moment, please?"

The door remained ajar when she ducked back into the room, and Draco blinked, surprised. All eyes were on him now, and he shifted uncomfortably before pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the room. Hermione grabbed his hand as he strode past.

"You promised," she whispered, her words laced with desperation.

"I did," was all he said before he went into the room, closing the door behind him.

The Healer stared at him with piercing hazel eyes. "Mrs. Nott has been helping me so far, but though she's a competent Healer, she's still recovering from childbirth and her magical core isn't as strong as usual. I need you to take over. You seem to be able to keep a cool head and you were sensible enough to cast a Stasis charm. I'm sure you can step in now."

Draco glanced over at Daphne, who was sitting in a chair, looking wan and exhausted. He remembered Hermione and her desperate last words.

"Tell me what I can do," Draco said, slipping his wand from its holster and trying hard not to look at the bloodied bandages lying in a heap at the foot of Blaise's bed.

* * *

Hours later, Draco sank to the floor, his head resting against the side of the bed. The Healer hummed, satisfied, and after casting a few more spells, declared herself finished.

She stepped into the hallway and said, to nobody in particular, "He's in a magical coma now but he should wake up tomorrow evening. There is no need to worry, it will help his body heal. However, he also has a major concussion, and because of all the other treatments, his brain will not be able to withstand magical interference. He'll have to recover from that without magic, so it will take time. I'll be back tomorrow to check on him, if you can ensure there's always someone with him, just in case? I can find my own way out."

Theo walked into the room and bent over Draco, shaking his shoulder. "Go to bed, Draco. I'll take the first watch." Draco was too exhausted to react, but he did manage to pull himself up and walk out the door. Everyone else was still in the hallway, talking in subdued tones, looking stressed and tired. The Healer was gone, though, and Daphne urged her other guests to go to their rooms and get some sleep, too.

Draco reached out to open his bedroom door when a thought struck him.

"Did anyone tell Mrs. Zabini?"

His question froze the others in their actions. Hermione turned to face him. "I didn't think of that. Why didn't I think of that? She'll want to know. We have to…"

"I'll go," Draco interrupted.

"But you're tired and…"

"She has to be told, I'll Floo over and give her the news. We can't let her know via Owl, it's too… I'll go."

Draco turned away from his bedroom and he directed his steps towards the fireplace in the drawing room.

"I'll come with you," she said, following him closely.

"You don't have to, Miss Granger."

"I do. I feel I should. It's my fault he…" She sobbed, unable to continue. Draco turned around and grabbed her arms. He could barely refrain from shaking her and tightened his grip instead. "It is not your fault. It was a landslide. Rocks tumbling down a mountain. It happens. Do not blame yourself," he snapped. She blinked, shocked at his sharp tone, but then nodded.

"I still want to come with you to tell Mrs. Zabini," she muttered, a stubborn glint in her eyes.

He sighed but let go of her, too tired to argue.

* * *

Mrs. Zabini entered the travel room shortly after they had arrived and Miss Granger had just spelled the soot off their robes.

"Draco, darling! Miss Granger! I thought you would have come back earlier but I assumed you were just having too much fun with Theo and Daphne. What can I do for you?"

Draco and Hermione looked at each other, silently arguing who should be the one to tell her, but then she looked away and made a defeated gesture with her hand.

"My dear Signora, I think you had better sit down. I fear I bring you bad news," Draco began.

Mrs. Zabini fell onto a chair, her face suddenly pale and her shoulders rigid. "Just tell me, Draco," she pleaded.

"There was an accident. Blaise was badly hurt. He's been healed, and he's in a magical coma now to allow his body to recover. He'll still have to recover from a concussion on his own once he wakes up." His voice was cool and detached, although he felt anything but.

"Blaise?" Mrs. Zabini whispered, holding out a hand for Draco to grasp.

"He survived, Signora, he will be fine. I promise, he will be fine."

Mrs. Zabini began to cry; loud, dramatic sobs, clinging to Draco for support. Flora entered the room shortly after, curious about the noise, and when Hermione informed her of what had happened, she, too started crying. Mrs. Zabini began to hyperventilate, screaming, crying, unable to stop herself from the shock of almost losing her beloved son.

Draco snapped his fingers and a house-elf popped into the room.

"Get me a Calming Draught," he ordered. Then he turned to Flora and Hermione, who stood on the other side of the room, looking helpless and useless. His eyes softened when he regarded the distressed women.

"Flora, maybe you can go back to the Notts with Miss Granger. I'll stay with your mother. Once she has taken a Calming Draught I will put her to bed and as soon as she feels up to it, I will send her over as well. Blaise needs you there now."

The house-elf appeared again with a glass vial. The draught shimmered pale blue in the firelight, and Draco sniffed it before coaxing Mrs. Zabini to drink it. Not that he didn't trust the house-elves, it was simply a habit left over from the War to check the content of all potion vials before drinking them.

Soon Mrs. Zabini sagged against him, drowsy and limp, and Draco lifted her up in his arms and followed the house-elf to her bedroom. Flora was still in the travel room, indecisive and looking lost, and clinging to Hermione for support.

"I'll put her to bed and stay with her, I promise. Go, Flora. Just go. I'll let MacMillan know where you are, too. And I'll send the house-elves after you with clothes and other necessities."

Then Flora nodded, walked over to the Floo, tossed a handful of the glittering powder in the fire and left. Only Hermione remained now, still looking panicked. Draco shifted Mrs. Zabini in a more comfortable position in his arms - luckily she was a petite woman - and looked at Hermione again.

"Miss Granger… Hermione, there is nothing you can do here. Go back to Theo's," he said, his voice gentle and persuasive.

She nodded, made to turn but stopped herself.

"Thank you, Draco. For everything. You were so strong today. I cannot imagine what would have happened without you there."

"Do not think about that. I was there. He will get better. Everything will be fine. Now go. You need to sleep." He walked out into the hallway, then up the stairs, without looking back.

* * *

 ** _A.N. Sorry this took a little longer than planned but work was crazy and my weekend quite full. I'm sure you'll have forgiven me by the time you reached the end of this chapter. Thoughts?_**

 ** _Beta love to hobbit penguin! Any remaining mistakes are my own._**


	12. The aftermath

**12\. The Aftermath**

Draco woke up with a start when a house-elf tugged on his sleeve. He had fallen asleep on the sofa in Mrs. Zabini's room and only barely managed not to fall to the floor.

"Rina is being sorry, Master Draco, but Mistress is having a firecall and Rina cannot wake Mistress, Sir!" The elf pulled at her ears in distress.

Draco sat up, trying to remember where he was and why his neck hurt so much. Then he saw Mrs. Zabini, still sleeping in her bed, and he remembered. Blaise. The accident. The Healer. Mrs. Zabini. The Calming Draught had helped her fall asleep, but she had woken up in the middle of the night, screaming about Blaise and blood and accidents, and Draco had made her take a Dreamless Sleep Potion, which should keep her asleep for another three or four hours at least. He rubbed his hands over his face in a tired gesture and arose from the sofa, carefully rolling his head left and right, trying to stretch his painful muscles.

"I can accept the call for Mrs. Zabini, Rina. Your mistress needs to sleep a little longer and then she will wake up just fine."

"Rina be thanking Master Draco, Sir!" Rina squeaked before she disappeared with a pop.

Draco was exhausted, but he still dragged himself downstairs, running his hand through his hair to give it some semblance of neatness, and straightening the collar of his robes to make it less obvious that he had slept in them.

Theo's head greeted him from the fire, and Draco hurried to kneel in front of him, both eager and fearful to hear the latest news from the North.

"What is wrong? What happened?" he asked, agitated.

"Nothing, Draco. I just wanted to tell you Blaise has come through the night remarkably well and ask how you are doing. I am sorry for causing you to worry."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, and then looked at Theo expectantly. "So how is Blaise doing this morning? Did he wake up yet? How are the others?"

"Blaise is still in a magical coma, but the Healer visited this morning, cast some diagnostic spells and said he was healing just as he was supposed to. He should wake up tonight, though it will probably still take him some weeks to fully recover. How are you? You look terrible."

Draco shook his head derisively. "Thank you, Theo. I had to give Mrs. Zabini some Calming Draught yesterday evening, maybe Herm... Miss Granger told you?" Theo nodded. "As you may know, Calming Draughts unfortunately do not stop nightmares, so Mrs. Zabini woke up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder, and I had to make her take some Dreamless Sleep Potion. She's still sleeping." Draco yawned and rubbed his eyes. The memories of that night made him feel more exhausted still.

"You clearly did not sleep much last night, then?"

"You should not be worrying about me, Theo," Draco huffed.

"Who else is going to worry about you? You helped the Healer yesterday, you looked dead on your feet when you finally came out of that room, and then you still insisted on telling Aunt Elissa and Miss Zabini about what happened yourself. And then you dealt with her hysterics throughout the night? Draco, seriously, you need to rest, too."

"I shall be perfectly fine." Draco defiantly clenched his teeth together to hold in another yawn, but Theo's arch expression showed he had not quite succeeded. To Draco's relief, he chose not to press any further.

"If you say so. When Aunt Elissa is sufficiently recovered, please tell her Blaise will wake up this evening, and that she is very welcome to come over and stay for however long she wants. And you as well, of course."

Draco inclined his head to acknowledge the invitation. "I'll tell her. She should wake up in a few hours, I'm sure she will come up North as soon as she can. You are certain he is going to be fine?"

"The Healer is confident he will fully recover," Theo repeated.

"How are the others?"

"Everyone is still shaken, but most of us managed to get a good night's sleep. Potter took over the wake halfway through the night and Miss Granger was there first thing this morning to take her turn watching him. Daphne is still recovering, she exhausted her magic trying to help the Healer, she's still in bed, but she should be better tomorrow. A good day's rest is all she needs."

"I am relieved to hear that. Thank you for letting me know, Theo. If you don't mind, I shall try to sleep some more, too. The elves will tell me when Mrs. Zabini wakes up."

They said their goodbyes and Draco found a comfortable bed in one of the guest rooms.

But sleep escaped him, no matter how hard he tried. Images kept swirling in his head, keeping him awake. Thoughts of Miss Granger and Blaise, laughing and talking. Hermione, pleading with him to save Blaise. Hermione, tending to Blaise. Miss Granger and Blaise happy together. Draco realised he could not go back. He no longer resented the relationship, but he needed time away to prepare for the inevitable, he refused to go back and see them grow closer and closer together, still. He was trying to come up with a credible excuse to stay at the Lodge when Rina appeared in his room to tell him her Mistress wanted to see him.

Mrs. Zabini was still in bed when he entered her room, a tray with pastries and fruit hovering over her lap. She looked a little dazed, which Draco suspected was an aftereffect of drinking both a Calming Draught and a Dreamless Sleep Potion in one night.

"Draco, was it all just a dream?" she asked, desperation interlacing with hope as she blinked and held out a hand to him. Draco grasped her hand and sat down on the bed with her, searching her face for signs of hysteria.

"I'm sorry, Signora. It was not a dream."

Mrs. Zabini only nodded, tightening her grip on his hand and then relaxing again.

"Any news?" Her voice trembled, torn between the desire to know and the fear the news would deprive her of hope.

"The Healer saw him this morning. She is confident he will wake up tonight and though it may take a long time, he will recover. I promise, Signora, you need no longer fear for your son."

She sagged against the pillows in relief, closing her eyes to let the news sink in. Draco coughed, gripping her hand more tightly to get her attention again. She looked at him, and Draco saw her eyes were sharper now, as if her relief had cleared the clouds that the combination of sleeping and calming draughts had left behind.

"Theo suggested you may want to travel North later today. The Healer thought it best not to move your son, he might have to stay there for a while. He says he has a room ready for you, if you want it. Flora left yesterday. I'm sure Blaise would want you to be there when he wakes up, too."

"Of course I must go. Of course. Rina! Start packing," Mrs. Zabini instructed as soon as the elf popped into the room. She made to get up, but Draco gently pushed her back.

"Have some breakfast first. Your son would want you to take care of yourself. And you need to eat something, or you will not last the day. Go on, Signora, a little fruit, if nothing else." He coaxed her into eating everything on her tray, poured her some strong tea and made her drink it before allowing her to get up, and retreating from the room.

* * *

He returned to Zabini Lodge, where his own house-elf started fussing over him as soon as he entered the house.

"Master is being too tired. Master must sleep. Master must eat!" Essie wrung her hands desperately when he ignored her and walked to his drinks cabinet, pouring out a good two fingers of Firewhiskey instead.

"I would like some breakfast, Essie," he said, after tossing back the drink in one go. It coursed through his body, burning and searing every nerve. Only then he noticed the owl, a great horned owl, sitting on the back of his favourite armchair and looking utterly displeased at having been kept waiting. It held out its leg imperiously. Draco's eyes caught the seal of the Wizengamot. He snatched the letter away, cutting his hand on one of the talons in his carelessness, and ripped the seal open.

 _To Mr. Draco L. Malfoy_

 _Dear Sir,_  
 _After long deliberation, the Wizengamot has come to a verdict. Please be present for the reading of the verdict on 14 November at two in the afternoon in Courtroom 5, level 8 of the Ministry of Magic. If you cannot be present yourself, please send legal representation._

 _Sincerely_  
 _Amelia Mintumble_  
 _Secretariat to the Wizengamot_

Draco cursed. The owl hooted impatiently. At the same time, Essie appeared with a steaming plate of bacon and eggs, buttered toast and muffins.

"Master must eat!" she squeaked, placing the plate on the table and pushing him towards a chair.

"No response," Draco muttered at the owl, but he flinched at the scathing glare that the animal returned to him. "And of course, if you'd like some food..." He gestured at the breakfast plate on the table. The owl's glare seemed to soften and he hopped over to the table, snatching a whole piece of toast from a plate before taking off with a majestic sweep of his wings.

Draco sighed, sat down and cursed again. The fourteenth was tomorrow. "Essie, take this note to Mr. Goldstein immediately. Tell him I'll be there."

After his hearty breakfast and a change of robes, Draco felt a lot better. He was about to write a note to Mrs. Zabini when the lady herself knocked on his door.

"Are you ready to go, Draco? I don't want to wait much longer, maybe Blaise will wake up earlier."

"I'm so sorry, Signora, I am sadly prevented from accompanying you to the North. I have to be in London tomorrow; the Wizengamot are reading the verdict. Depending on the outcome, I may have to stay a little longer." Draco hated using this as an excuse, he knew perfectly well he could travel to the Ministry from Nott House as quickly as from the Lodge, but he also knew Blaise needed his family around, and not a friend who could not, for many reasons, give him the time and attention he needed.

"Oh Draco, caro, I hope you will get good news, though we will miss you. You can stay here as long as you need, the house-elves will be at your disposal. I shall write to you as soon as we have any news, I promise." She paused, then reached out and cupped his face in a tender caress. "You may think you have barely any family left, but you know I think of you as a son, caro, and you will always be welcome here. Please remember that, no matter how hard life is when you go out into the world, as you are bound to do. You will always have us. You will always have a home here." Draco turned his face away, overwhelmed by the strong emotions that coursed through him. She dropped her hand but smiled softly, giving him a moment to compose himself.

"Thank you for everything you have done for us. I talked to Daphne earlier, she said you helped the Healer almost to the point of exhausting all your magic. She said that you were the one who saved my son's life. And then you came here and took care of me. I'll never forget that, Draco Malfoy. I am in your debt, and if the debt cannot be settled in our lifetimes, it will fall to our descendents to honour and settle it."

Draco blinked and looked into her face, surprised at the formal declaration. "Signora, I believe… surely you…" but she placed a finger on his lips to shush him.

"Will you accept this token as a sign of my family's debt to you?" she said, holding out a small emerald encased in platinum. Draco stared at it, then at her.

"I accept the token" he replied, holding her gaze as she dropped the gem in his hand.

"Come visit us soon, Draco." She gave him a quick hug. Then she walked out of the room, leaving behind a stunned Draco, clutching the emerald in his fist. He felt the implications of what had passed reverberate in his magic. Not only had Elissa Zabini told him he was as good as family, she had formally acknowledged a life debt, binding their two families together in a way that only a marriage bond could supersede.

* * *

Draco looked out wearily over the grounds of the Zabini estate from his bedroom window. The big house looked desolate and abandoned, as it was. The November rains gave the whole place a certain feeling of gloom. Draco had not felt this lonely in a long time. Only now he realised how much he depended on the Zabini's. They had not, in fact, spent every single day together since his arrival at the Lodge, but just knowing they were there if he wanted to see them had given him a certain comfort. Now he knew they were all at Nott House, tending to Blaise, who had woken up the evening before, still suffering from a severe concussion, but otherwise sufficiently healed to soothe even Mrs. Zabini's motherly concerns.

He was the last to remain on the estate, apart from the house-elves, he was the last of their group. He had no reason to hope for any good news from the Wizengamot, in fact, he refused to hope for any outcome better than not being sent to Azkaban himself. They might change their mind about him, still, after all. And who would miss him? He was the last, the very last.

A chime told him it was time to take the Floo to the Ministry and hear the Wizengamot verdict. Draco had to remind himself he had a home to return to, if all their efforts had come to nothing, and that he could scarcely walk out of the courtroom any worse off than he was right now.  
Mr. Goldstein met him in the Atrium and they went down together, the journey more nauseating than Draco had ever experienced it. Every step that brought them closer seemed to spell a certain doom.

"You look a little green, Mr. Malfoy," Mr. Goldstein remarked blandly. Draco only nodded, trying to ignore the nerves in his stomach. He swallowed with difficulty.

"I really think you have nothing to worry about," his lawyer then whispered in Draco's ear, moments before they entered the courtroom.

Arguer Bones was present already, and greeted them with a solemn nod. Draco thought he saw him wink, but it was so subtle it might as well have been just a twitch in his eye. The full Wizengamot entered, looking quite grave and unyielding. Draco gave up all hope of recovering any of his family's properties.

Then the Chair of the Wizengamot stood up, unrolled a scroll, and started speaking. "In the case of Mr. Malfoy vs. the Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot has reached a unanimous verdict, which has been undersigned as follows. The Members of the Wizengamot agree that the sentence put upon Lucius Malfoy unfairly impacts on the lives of his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, and their son, Draco Malfoy, who have each received and served their punishment for actions in the War and should suffer no consequences for actions of Lucius Malfoy, in which they had no part. Therefore the Wizengamot has agreed to return the possessions brought into the marriage by Narcissa Malfoy, as listed in their marriage contract, to Draco Malfoy, to use or dispose of as he sees fit, with the exception of any objects infected by Dark Magic, which will remain in the possession of the Ministry. The Wizengamot will uphold the remainder of Lucius Malfoy's sentence, meaning the Malfoy vault, businesses and the estate in Wiltshire remain in the possession of the Ministry. This decision has been confirmed by unanimous vote of the full Wizengamot. The Ministry is to turn over the listed items to Mr. Malfoy within a week of today. An appeal may be lodged within three days of the reading of this verdict. If such an appeal is lodged, execution of the verdict may be suspended."

The Chief Warlock continued to read the scroll, but Draco stopped listening. He had the house. He'd get the Black jewels back and the money his mother had brought into the marriage. It was a new start. He was so lost in thought only a sharp dig in his side brought his attention back to the courtroom. Draco jumped to his feet next to his lawyer while the Wizengamot filed out. When the last of them had left the courtroom, he sagged back into his chair. He was so overwhelmed by his good fortune that he did not see Mr. Bones had come over until the man extended his hand and started speaking.

"The Ministry is, of course, not particularly happy with this very lenient ruling, but we will not lodge an appeal, Mr. Malfoy. I will ensure the transfer of the properties to be arranged soon. Await my owl. Mr. Goldstein, until we meet again?"

Goldstein just nodded and Bones left the courtroom. Only he and Draco were left in the now empty room.

"How do you feel?" Mr. Goldstein asked, cautiously.

"I can hardly believe... My great-grandparents house… My mother's dowry returned… I guess…" Draco stopped, shook his head in disbelief, and then smiled at his lawyer. "I guess I really can have my life back now."

Mr. Goldstein nodded, patted him on the shoulder and then started guiding him towards the door. "We should leave now, Mr. Malfoy. I shall owl you as soon as I have a full list of the items to be returned to you. I am convinced the Ministry will want to settle this matter as soon as possible. I hope you were not planning to travel any time soon? " Draco followed his lawyer in a daze. He could hardly believe that the Wizengamot had given such a favourable verdict.

* * *

He was still in a state of shock when he returned to Zabini Lodge by Floo, going straight for the liquor yet again. He did not notice he had a visitor until he heard a delicate cough behind him.

He whirled around, Firewhiskey carafe in one hand, wand ready to attack in the other. Harry Potter held up his hands in surrender.

"I did not mean to startle you, Draco," he said with an apologetic grin, "but I will accept some of that, if you are offering." He nodded towards the carafe of Firewhiskey. Draco lowered his wand, then smiled as he slipped it back into his sleeve. "What brings you here, Harry?" he asked, turning back to the liquor cabinet and taking a second tumbler for his guest.

"I thought I might visit. Miss Zabini tried to firecall you earlier but your house-elf said you were out." Harry accepted the offered drink and settled down in a chair. Draco took the chair across from him.

"I was at the Ministry. How is Blaise?"

"Zabini is doing well. Most of his broken bones have healed. He still has to remain in bed though, he needs to rest to give his head time to recover from that concussion. And his lungs are taking a little longer than the Healer had expected, he's short of breath very quickly."

"I hope he recovers fully very soon. How is everyone else?"

"Both Zabini ladies are fussing over the man as if he were a baby. I think he secretly enjoys it. Luna and I have returned to Wiltshire today, but we will soon move to London. We have decided to live at Grimmauld Place, I have a house there that was left to me by my Godfather. She wants to be closer to healers she trusts now…" Harry hesitated, then a dreamy smile stole over his face. "She's expecting," he continued. "We have told nobody but Hermione, and now you. But that is why she wants to be in London. She never really settled at the Manor, thought it was too haunted and filled with traces of Black magic and...Oh. My apologies." He blushed and looked embarrassed at having disparaged Draco's ancestral home, but Draco just shrugged. "Your wife is not mistaken, I believe she is, in fact, singularly sensitive to atmosphere. The Manor always was a gloomy place. I should not have wanted to raise any children there."

Harry nodded, relief in his eyes. Then he frowned slightly. "Not that Grimmauld Place is any better in my opinion, but she seems to like it well enough. Once we move in and redecorate the rooms it will surely feel very differently."

They sipped their Firewhiskey in companionable silence, then Harry looked up suddenly, recalling something Draco had said. "You were at the Ministry? Why?"

"The Wizengamot announced their verdict. They have graciously decided to return my Mother's dowry to me, which means I will shortly be the proud owner of the old Rosier House in London, as well as some money and jewelry that have been in the Black line for centuries. To be honest, they are probably all cursed, those jewels, but I can always pawn them off. Or maybe breaking the curses will help pass the idle hours."

"That sounds like a better result than you were hoping for."

"It is." Draco smiled happily.

After another long pause, Harry spoke up again.

"You made quite an impression. With your behaviour at the Lakes, I mean. Hermione cannot stop talking about how brave you were, and how calm you remained and how you were a rock for everyone, saving Zabini the way you did. He would like to see you and thank you himself. And Miss Greengrass seems to be very eager to see you again. I admit I find it very refreshing to see people hero-worship someone other than me."

"I just did what I could to save one of my best friends," Draco protested, scowling.

"It was still an admirable feat, Draco. You should not shy away from just and well-earned praise, you will see, having Gryffindors for friends now, that we freely praise when praise is due. Zabini would have died if you had reacted in any different way. But you may want to try and avoid Miss Greengrass, I think she will cling to you even more than before."

"I shall do more than try and succeed in avoiding her. I need to stay here for a while, and then I have that old house to restore to a habitable dwelling. I have enough to do. I'm afraid Blaise will not see me for a while."

"Between Miss Greengrass and your newly restored inheritance, I'm sure he understands that you cannot spend your days at his sickbed. He has enough people around to distract him."

Draco tried very hard not to picture exactly who was distracting Blaise at his sickbed but failed miserably. He could not help but think that it was a good prospect indeed that he would soon have his own house in London, so he could avoid seeing Blaise and Miss Granger every day, the way he would have if he stayed at the Lodge. He just hoped the Ministry would turn over the deeds to the house very soon.

"Draco, there is something else I wanted to discuss with you. I went back to where the accident took place. The rocks, they contained magical trace… Not just yours, which is expected, since you lifted them away from Zabini's body, but someone else's. There was no reason to have an avalanche like that. Everything was perfectly fine when we went up. I think it may not have been an accident. Could you… May I examine your memories? Maybe if we examine them in a Pensieve we can see something that escaped our notice before."

Draco paused, and looked at Harry, trying to read his face. "Do you really think this may not have been accidental?" he asked, incredulous. Harry nodded, his jaw set with determination. "At the moment, I have nothing but the magical trace and my instincts. But if I could see your memories of that moment… You must understand, it is only a feeling. Hermione is still too upset to ask her something like this, so I thought maybe you… Please?"

"I have no Pensieve at my disposal, Harry, but you are welcome to the memory whenever you have access to one. There was one at the Manor but it remained there when… when I left. I should hope you destroyed it, for it was too tainted by Dark magic to be saved."

"The Ministry has a Pensieve I can borrow. I will owl you when I have secured it. In the meantime, be careful when you go out. I have no reason to believe that this attack - if it was an attack - was at all aimed at you but until I know more, I cannot be certain of anything."

"So who do you think it was aimed at, then?"

Harry shrugged. "The obvious answer would be the actual victim, Blaise Zabini. But Hermione could have been severely injured, too. And it was really only a stroke of fortune that Luna and myself were no longer in the path of that avalanche. And maybe it was just an accident after all. I may simply be wrong."

Harry took his leave soon afterwards. Draco remained in his chair, nursing another glass of Firewhiskey and staring into the fire with an uneasy feeling that lingered for a long time.

* * *

 **A.N.: Life, as you may know, does sometimes get in the way of writing, editing, everything, really. I've had a difficult few months but I hope to be back on track and publish the rest of this story before Christmas. I want to thank you for waiting patiently for the next installment. Not beta'd so any mistakes are and remain my own.**

 **Please do let me know what you think of the chapter in your reviews! I love hearing from my readers. Thank you for all the reviews on the previous chapters. They really helped me get through the dark days.**


	13. Making a home

**13\. Making a home**

Draco wiped his sleeve over his face to get the dust out of his eyes. His great-grandparents' house had been in a terrible state when he first entered. The building's structure was solid, its protective wards still strong and tuned to his blood as the most direct descendant and owner, but it had needed a lot of repair and cleaning. With the help of the Zabini house-elves, who had very little to do while the Zabinis remained at Theo Nott's house for Blaise's recovery, his own house-elf Essie and a handy list of household spells, he had transformed one room after another, until the house became habitable. He'd moved out of the Zabini Lodge as soon as he could comfortably do so.

The kitchen had been the most difficult room, as it had remained the same for centuries. Shelves so mouldy even just touching them had made them fall apart, cracked flagstone floor and only an open fire to cook. He had talked to the house-elves to understand how they would like to organise their domain and did everything he could to make their work easier.

He'd reconnected the Floo, let the house elves clean up and get rid of the mould-ridden furniture and doxy-infested curtains, and enjoyed a day in Diagon Alley choosing new settees and chairs and tables. The tradesman had been a little weary at first, but he became amiable enough when he realised what kind of sale he could make. Draco had relished in the feeling of no longer being ostracised.

He had finally moved on to the bedrooms, which were in a worse state than the other rooms, and was helping the house-elves clean up when he heard the chime of the Floo.

He muttered a quick cleaning spell at himself to banish off the dust and went downstairs to see who was calling. He recognised Flora Zabini's voice before he even made it into the drawing room.

"Draco? Oh, there you are. Can I come through?"

"Of course, Miss Zabini." She rolled her eyes at his formal address.

A few minutes later she had gracefully stepped out of the floo, dispelling the soot with a quick flick of her wand, and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs.

"May I offer you some refreshments?" Draco asked, gesturing at the brand new dark mahogany sideboard with crystal carafes on top.

"Is that Elven wine? Oh, that would be lovely, Draco, thank you."

Draco poured the glasses, handed one to his guest and settled down in the chair across from her.

"How are you? How is Blaise? Is he fully recovered now?"

Flora shrugged. "He… Physically he is fine, as well recovered as he can be. The Healer says the worst of the concussion is over but he still cannot sit up for a long time before those infernal headaches strike. The Healer reckons he will be able to travel home by carriage in a few weeks, so we can celebrate Yuletide at the Manor. You are invited, of course!"

"Thank you for the invitation but I have no idea if I can accept just yet. I fear my Mother has threatened to visit, so I may be occupied."

Flora laughed. "You could always bring her along, as long as she behaves. We've also invited the Notts, to thank them for letting us stay for such a long time and taking such good care of us. They really did indulge us. A visit to the Manor should be a lovely change for them. " She paused and glanced at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Astoria will join us too. I am certain she is looking forward to seeing you again."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "The feeling is entirely unreciprocated, I assure you."

Flora Zabini smiled but did not say more on the subject. "I returned to the Manor yesterday. I noticed you had left the Lodge." She looked around with avid curiosity. "This seems like a very comfortable house. Are you settling well?"

Draco nodded and enthusiastically started explaining about the house and all the improvements he had made to it. He dragged Flora along to the kitchen, then up the stairs to the first floor where the bedrooms were more or less presentable.

"I am still looking for furniture but I managed to recover some pieces that were not too deteriorated," he explained as he showed her around the guest bedroom he intended for his mother, where Essie was polishing the furniture until it shone. "I think Mother will like this room. I managed to fill it with restored pieces from the other rooms, and the house-elves have been most helpful with the furnishings. Do tell la Signora I am very grateful she let me borrow them."

"You can tell her yourself," Flora laughed as she fell backwards onto the bed, upsetting the pale blue bed covers and jumbling the pillows together. The house-elf shook her head in disapproval. "She is returning to the Manor soon to prepare for my brother's return. We are taking turns fussing over him these days, because, much as we all love him, you know what a spoiled brat he becomes when he feels ill." She stretched out her arms towards Draco, who obligingly took her hands and helped her off the bed.

"I shall be happy to visit her, then. I certainly will have more time on my hands once the house is ready - well, as ready as it can be. I have not yet found a new purpose for the upper floors." Draco glanced up at the ceiling with a frown.

"Maybe Miss Greengrass will have some ideas," Flora teased, and Draco shot her an exasperated look. "Then again, Astoria is not particularly known for having ideas of her own, apart from those ridiculous fantasies about married life," she conceded. He laughed, and led her back downstairs.

"The basement will be turned into a potions laboratory. I always was good at Potions. I might start up an Apothecary, though I have a feeling my name will prevent me even from selling to established apothecaries. But time may soften public resentment. And this would make me totally independent from the Ministry, as well." Draco stopped when he saw Flora's peculiar smile, and asked, bluntly, "What? Why are you smiling like that?"

Flora turned to face him, the smile fixed on her face, and contemplated him, before suddenly throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight. "I'm just glad to see the Draco I knew in Hogwarts. You were like a ghost of your usual self when you first arrived at the Lodge. But there is fire in your eyes again, you carry yourself with determination and pride, you are just so much happier. It is like the old you is back, only without the sneers and that misplaced feeling of superiority. And I am truly happy to see that. You deserve a second chance, Draco, and I think you finally believe that yourself." She stepped back, chuckled at his astonished face, and kissed his cheek. "I have to go now, Draco, I am meeting Tobias McMillan at the tea room in ten minutes. Do not forget us in your busy new life, my dear friend. We have gotten so used to your presence at home, it is positively unnatural not to see you so often any more. "

She departed in a flurry of green flames. Draco was left behind in a state of confusion.

* * *

Elissa Zabini seemed just as happy to see him when he visited her a week later at Zabini Manor.

"Draco, carissimo, what a pleasant surprise! Have tea with me, it is so quiet with nobody here. You do not eat enough, ragazzo, go on, sit down and have a sandwich, or some chocolate cake?" She was as energetic and overwhelming as she had been before her son's accident, and it was only seeing her now, like this, that Draco realised how badly she had been affected by it.

"How is your son doing, Signora?" he asked as soon as she paused to take a sip of her tea. Mrs. Zabini sighed sadly, and Draco set his plate down on the side table with a clatter, alarmed at her reaction.

"Oh, no, do not be afraid, Draco, I am sorry. He is recovering well, physically, he can sit up for a bit every day now, and soon he will get up and walk around again too. But…" She paused, sighed again and continued. "He has changed, Draco. He was always so happy and full of jokes and so carefree, and he seems a lot more subdued now. He no longer laughs like he used to. I think the accident has somehow changed him. It is so difficult to explain. He is not the Blaise we used to know. He was always such a happy child, always up for fun, and now he just sits there, listens politely to stories, but no more spontaneous reactions, no more mischief."

Draco sat back in his sofa, surprised. "What does the Healer say?"

"It might be temporary, but it is more likely that this is the way he will be for the rest of his life." Mrs. Zabini clutched at her tea cup as if it was the only thing to give her strength.

Draco took a deep breath and bowed his head. He said, in a low voice, "Signora, I am so sorry. If I had been quicker, if I had done something different, maybe…"

His hostess interrupted him vehemently. "No, no, Draco, I would not say this to make you feel guilty. None of this is your fault, it really is not. Please do not ever think that. If it had not been for you, I might not have had my son back at all!" She shuddered at the thought. "It just saddens me to see him so changed." She sipped her tea, composing herself, and Draco waited for her to say more.

"The Notts have been fantastic, letting us stay there and take over their house like that. Of course it was a lot calmer when the Potters and Miss Granger left. But they are so helpful, taking care of Blaise, and with that little baby, too! Even Miss Greengrass takes her turn reading to my son, and that is more than I would have expected of the girl."

Draco barely noticed the scorn in Mrs. Zabini's last comment, and focused on the first instead. "Miss Granger is gone? I thought she would have stayed until he was better." _How strange for her to leave the man she loves behind,_ he thought. _So unlike the Hermione I knew._ But Mrs. Zabini confirmed it. "She said she wanted to see her family. She cannot spend Christmas for some reason or other, so she went now."

Draco considered that a strange reason to leave, but he was careful enough to check his curiosity in front of this observant, shrewd woman, and steered the conversation in a different direction. "Will she be joining you for the Yuletide celebrations then?"

Mrs. Zabini threw up her hands. "Ah, Draco, that, I do not know. I did invite her, but she has not yet accepted. She might prefer to spend it with the Potters, although I hope she will visit us."

Draco thought that was rather peculiar as well, but he had no chance to dwell on the thought, as Mrs. Zabini began talking of his mother.

"Flora tells me your mother will be joining you for the holidays. When are you expecting her?"

He suppressed a grimace, not quite successfully, and answered with affected disinterest. "In a week, Signora. She said she planned to arrive in the beginning of December."

Mrs. Zabini nodded. "I shall call on her when she is here, of course. And you are both very warmly invited to join us in our Yule celebrations."

"You are most kind, Signora," Draco said with a bow in her direction. "I shall certainly accept your invitation. And I look forward to receiving you in my home."

"Good. Be sure to write down your new address before you leave here today, caro. Flora always forgets to tell me." Then Mrs. Zabini started to share all the gossip she had heard since returning to the Manor, and Draco let her voice wash over him, embracing the warmth and sense of normalcy that surrounded him in her presence. He left his hostess with a heart filled with gratitude and his spirits soaring high, only saddened a little by the realisation that he would never be this comfortable around his own mother.

* * *

 _A.N. Just a short one but the next will be coming up soon. Special thanks to my beta hobbit penguin. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you so much for all the reviews! I love reading your thoughts._


	14. Mater Familias

**14\. Mater familias**

Before Draco was at all ready for her arrival, his Mother came back to England with all the expected pomp and circumstance. She descended on his home in a whirl of activity, overtaking his house with a retinue of house-elves sending Essie into a panicked frenzy. Soon every room was dressed with an arrangement of flowers he mostly detested and the good china from the French estate filled every surface he had purposefully kept bare. Narcissa Malfoy Portkeyed into the drawing room and stood there, surveying him, then the room in which she had arrived, in utter silence, her face not betraying any emotion.

"You could have told me we are staying in Grandfather Rosier's house," she said eventually, taking one step closer to him and kissing lightly him on the cheek with cold lips. Draco tried to return the gesture but she must have noticed his hesitation.

"I call it the Dragon's Nest now," he said, his voice rather cooler than he had intended. "Mr. Goldstein convinced the Wizengamot to make up for the unfair consequences of my father's sentence. They have returned some of the Malfoy assets to me, this house included."

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. "They gave _my_ dowry to _you_?" The reproach in her voice was only thinly veiled. Draco inclined his head and sent his mother a sharp smile.

"That was the wording of their verdict. They made restitutions to me. You are, of course, welcome to the use of the jewelry and the house, in so far as you wish to make use of any of it, Mother."

She glanced around the room once more. "I recognise the place, of course, but it has changed a lot since my grandfather's time. I assume that is your doing?"

Draco let his eyes glide over the new white and silver curtains, the bleached wainscoting and the elegant white, silver and green silk wall hangings. The hardwood floor was covered in a warm, brightly coloured carpet and the elegant furniture decorated in shades of green and white. He loved the morning room, the comfort and familiarity of the Slytherin colours combined with bright and pure white that promised a new beginning. It was as unlike the Manor as it could be. He lifted his chin proudly. "As I said, the house is mine now, so I thought some redecorating was in order. It was in a terrible state when I first saw it. I was very fortunate that the Zabini's let me borrow their house-elves, and between us we managed to turn the place around. Let me show you the other rooms, Mother, and then maybe you want to rest before dinner? International Portkey travel is always so exhausting."

He held out his arm, a formal invitation she accepted by placing her fingers lightly just below his elbow. He showed her about the house and explained all the small and big changes he had made. She was unmoved by the new kitchen, although she had to agree it was very nice, indeed. For a kitchen. "Still, Draco, why would you show me the _kitchen_."

Her disapproving voice made his lips twist in annoyance, but he managed to keep his temper in check and led her into the dining room, and then upstairs to her room. She did seem to approve of that, he noticed with relief. He was annoyed at himself for still seeking her approval, but the next few weeks would be infinitely more bearable if she was comfortable in her quarters. She had a small sitting room to herself, decorated in pale blue and gold, and a comfortable bedroom filled mostly with the rosewood furniture original to the house that he had managed to restore.

"That bed was my grandparents', Draco. Thank you. This room is quite nice. I shall be quite comfortable here, after all."

Draco's polite smile did not quite reach his eyes. Once he was alone in his room, he shook off his annoyance and reminded himself not to let her take over his house nor his mind. "I have my plans. I have my life back. She'll be back in France in no time. Just a few weeks," he told himself while dressing for dinner.

* * *

Dinner was another trial that tested Draco's patience to the utmost limit. His mother talked incessantly about the French wizarding families she had associated with - "Really, Draco, you should have visited, I could have introduced you to Emilie de Montfort, such a lovely girl, I'm sure you would like her. And from such a noble family!" - and Draco sighed, and smiled politely, and wished dinner would be over so he could retreat to his own rooms.

"And then I was at a soiree organised by the Dammartins and I ran into Pansy Parkinson! Imagine my surprise, Draco!"

Draco looked up in shock, almost choking on the pheasant. "Pansy?" he managed to choke out, after coughing and grabbing for a glass of water to ease his throat.

"Really, Draco, I raised you better than that," Narcissa said with a disapproving look. "Yes, Miss Parkinson. Apparently she has been travelling these past few years, on the Continent. Such a wonderful young woman, so accomplished, so polite. It was most pleasant to meet such an old friend, of course, and she indulged me by talking of you very often. I hope you do not mind I invited her over for dinner soon? She really wanted to reconnect with you, so of course I said I would arrange it. If you give me permission, I can ask her over tomorrow evening. It is your house, after all, I would never presume…"

The bite in those last words did not diminish Draco's sudden wish to see Pansy Parkinson again. They had not met since Hogwarts, and though their families had tried to arrange a marriage between them, he had never seen her in that time. He had, after all, refused most adamantly to enter into any arranged marriage. His refusal, however, was not based in any dislike for the lady herself, rather it had been because his heart belonged - still belonged - to another.

"Of course you can invite her, Mother. I would be delighted to meet her after all these years," he said, speaking with genuine warmth for the first time since his mother had arrived.

He did not notice the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, nor her calculating looks. He was lost in the memories of a long-established friendship.

Narcissa Malfoy hid a satisfied smile behind her hand. She was convinced that Draco need only spend some time with the Parkinson girl to rekindle their close friendship before he could be persuaded to honour the marriage contract the two families had almost signed only three years ago. She would see him marry a Pureblood, after all.

* * *

An unexpected owl at breakfast brought the message that Harry Potter had secured a room and Pensieve at the Ministry for that day, and Draco gladly used the excuse to get away from his mother for the day. He had travelled to the Ministry by Floo before his mother had even left her room. It was fortunate indeed that she preferred to take her breakfast in bed.

Harry Potter awaited him in the Atrium and greeted him most cordially, causing scandalised gasps and stares in their direction, which they both ignored. Harry lead him to a small office on the fourth floor. It was sparsely furnished, only a few shelves on the walls and a desk with two chairs in the centre. It did not have any windows. It reminded Draco uncomfortably of the interrogation cells he had spent so much time in before his trial.

"Arthur very graciously allowed me the use of his office, I thought it better not to do this in the Auror Department. I fear many Aurors still hold a grudge against your family, understandably, but very unfortunate for you. Nobody ever comes here, so we won't be disturbed."

It took Draco a couple of minutes before he understood Harry was talking about Arthur Weasley.

"So you still are on speaking terms with the Weasley's then?"

"Yes, why would I not be?" Harry looked genuinely confused as he closed the door behind them and raised some privacy wards for good measure.

"I thought you had been set to marry the Weasley girl but the marriage did not take place. And you seem to be out of sorts with Ronald Weasley. I just assumed… I apologize."

Harry looked pensive for a moment. Then he began to set up the Pensieve, which was carefully concealed in a wooden crate underneath the desk.

"You are not entirely mistaken, so there is no need to apologize. Ron and I are… not fighting exactly, but it has been difficult. He is still in love with Hermione, but even you have seen how she feels about him. She cannot forgive him for… when he left, and she just… I believe she never really felt the same about him, in any case, even in Hogwarts. Our relationship has become strained because he wants me to persuade Hermione to give him another chance, but I cannot in good conscience do that. She is my sister in all but blood and I respect her wishes. I believe she knows her own heart. He needs to move on." The Pensieve was set up on the desk. Harry leaned on the desk, one hand either side of the Pensieve and stared into its swirling depths. He lowered his voice a little and continued, without looking at Draco, "Ginevra Weasley is another situation entirely. At Hogwarts we were very close but during the War we never saw much of one another and we just grew apart. Luna did keep crossing my path and we came to rely upon one another. After the Final Battle, I did try to regain my old footing with Miss Weasley, but we had both changed too much. Something felt very wrong when we were together. Every time I met Luna, life felt as if it finally made sense. So Miss Weasley and I decided together to release each other and I courted Luna instead. We married soon after. We both chose not to waste time on public expectations. We lived through a war, we deserve to be happy and society be damned. Molly and Arthur love me like a son, they wouldn't keep my failed relationship with their daughter, or the strained situation with Ronald, against me." Then he smiled. "We should get down to business first, Draco. We can talk more later."

Draco nodded and put his wand against his temple. He concentrated on the memory of that fateful afternoon and carefully extracted it from his mind to drop it in the Pensieve.

"We should go in together. I would not want to violate your privacy by going in alone. On the count of three," Harry said, holding his wand at the ready. Draco did the same, and they counted together.

"One.. Two… Three." Their wands touched the memory at the same time and they fell into the swirling silvery mass. They landed on the top of the hill, where Draco was standing on the edge of a deep precipice, and Astoria was clinging to him. Harry chuckled at the sight.

"I had not noticed that when we were up there."

"Lucky you. Too busy with the wife, I suspect," Draco responded drily.

They followed the group as they started their descent, and stayed close to memory-Draco and memory-Astoria. Both Draco and Harry looked around, trying to spot any signs of abnormality.

"I think this is about where…" Draco started to say, but he was interrupted by a loud bang and then the rocks came crashing down in a roaring flood.

"Did you see that?" Harry asked, almost breathless, as the rocks pounded down the hill, through them and around memory Draco and Astoria, who were protected by a shimmering red shield.

"There was a purple flash just before the noise starts, was there not?" Draco said, uncertainly.

"Yes, I noticed it too. A blasting curse, I should say. So it really was no accident after all."

"It appears not."

They followed memory-Draco running and sliding down the hill to find to Hermione and Blaise, and then the memory faded around them, and they were thrown out of the Pensieve.

They stared at each other over the Pensieve in astonishment. Their breathing was the only sound in the room.

"What now?" Draco asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Harry put the memory in a quickly conjured vial and took the Pensieve from the desk to stow it away in the crate.

"I need to investigate this more closely. I will assign some trusted Aurors to guard both Zabini and Hermione. I can take care of myself and my wife. What about you? Do you require any assistance?" At Draco's decisive shake of the head, he continued, "I thought not. I shall be completely frank with you, Draco, I rather think Zabini and Hermione were the target."

They started walking towards the Atrium again, a Muffliato charm shielding their conversation from curious ears.

"Yes, I suppose you are right. I really do not need any help with protection, Harry, the house I live in has ancient and strong wards, and I shall watch my back whenever I go out. That is nothing new, after all." Draco laughed wryly. "It is still not a good climate for a former Death Eater to walk around freely, as you know. Even if people know it was unwilling, the trial was publicised in detail in the Prophet, after all, some believe those were all lies to get me out of a conviction, just like my father claimed to be imperiused the first time around."

"I know this means very little now but I do believe it will get better. I better take this to Robards, I trust him to help me with this." Harry stopped at the second floor to say goodbye to Draco.

"I guess this means I better go straight home, instead of avoiding my Mother by walking the length and breadth of Diagon Alley?" Draco laughed again, but there was an edge of panic to his laughter that betrayed his strong reluctance.

"You could always visit Luna at Grimmauld Place. She would certainly love to see you again," Harry suggested. Draco sighed with relief.

"There's an idea. Thank you, Harry. Please do let me know how your enquiries into this matter progress."

"I will." They shook hands and Draco made to continue towards the Atrium.

"Harry!" The voice made both men freeze, but then Harry smiled and turned around. A surreptitious movement cancelled the Muffliato that had protected their conversation.

"Ron, how are you?"

"What on Merlin's sweet Earth are you doing here with that Ferret?" There was an accusation in those fierce blue eyes Draco did not quite understand.

"Draco and I ran into each other, he had some business at the Ministry." Draco realised that Harry had chosen not to inform his best friend about the Pensieve memory they had just looked at and the conclusions they had drawn. Or, he thought, looking around, maybe he just prefers not to talk about it where everyone can hear. He could understand that precaution. He nodded at Harry and made another attempt to continue towards the Atrium, from where he could Floo to the Potters' house and see if Mrs. Potter would receive him.

"And what business could a Death Eater have here?" Weasley sneered. Draco tensed but didn't turn back.

"Ronald!" Harry chided.

But Weasley refused to give up, and forcefully turned Draco around by the shoulder to face him.

"I asked a question, Malfoy." He glared menacingly, but Draco merely smiled. He had been glared at by Voldemort and had survived. An angry Weasel did not faze him now.

"I had not realised you were talking to me, Mr. Weasley. I was cleared by the Wizengamot, you see, so that particular epitaph does not apply to me." He deftly shrugged himself free from Weasley's grip, and turned towards the Atrium again.

"Now if you will excuse me, I do have business to attend to. Good day, Mr. Weasley, Harry," he said over his shoulder. Weasley snarled but failed to prevent Draco from leaving, and Draco allowed himself a satisfied smile as he caught the puce colour of Weasley's face from the corner of his eye. Calling Harry by his first name was one thing that would rile up the Weasel in no time.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was already in the sitting room when Draco arrived home at long last.

"Drakie!" She threw her arms around him in a bony hug and Draco suppressed a shudder at his old nickname. It had always irritated him, but never so much now, when it reminded him of times in Hogwarts when life had been simple. But he pushed those thoughts away and allowed himself to hug her for the tiniest moment before extricating himself from her arms.

"Miss Parkinson, what a delight to see you again." He greeted his mother with a nod. "Mother. I apologize, I had no idea what time your guest was coming, or I would have returned earlier."

Narcissa merely nodded, a gentle smile on her lips that did not quite match the gleam in her eyes.

"Maybe you can go and refresh yourself, darling. Dinner will be served soon. The two of you can speak later." Draco understood the dismissal and inclined his head, though it took him some effort not to grind his teeth in annoyance. It was his house, after all, why did his mother pretend she still had any authority over him? But that was a conversation to be had without an audience, and certainly without a notorious gossip like Pansy Parkinson in the house.

When he entered the sitting room a little later, his mother was laughing at a story Pansy was telling her about some mutual acquaintance in Paris.

"And then Guillaume had no choice but to leave, tail between his legs, of course." Their laughs tingled in perfect harmony. In some distant part of his mind, he noticed how artificial it sounded. That was the way most proper Pureblood girls were brought up, learning to laugh according to a musical pattern that slid up and down the scale, every gesture and tone practised and calculated to serve its purpose. He really did prefer the artlessness of Miss Granger's laugh, or the tinkling of Mrs. Potter's giggles, or even the exuberance of Flora Zabini's laughter.

The ladies turned to greet him, and he sat down beside Pansy on the sofa, accepting a cup of tea, eager to catch up with someone he had not seen in years.

"How have you been, my dear friend? My mother tells me you've travelled the Continent extensively."

Pansy nodded and launched in an enthusiastic tale of her travels across Switzerland, Italy, Spain and France, where she had run into his mother and they had renewed their acquaintance, a feeling of kinship as English witches in the same foreign country bringing them together.

"Not that we dislike living in France, you see," Pansy smiled conspiratorially at Narcissa. "But it was nice to be able to talk about home with someone who understood."

"And of course we had so much more in common. We never lack topics to talk about, do we?" Narcissa added, a meaningful glance in Draco's direction that he chose to ignore. But when Pansy agreed, chuckling, and squeezed his knee, he thought it was prudent to sit himself a little further away from her, under the guise of placing his cup on the side table. He was very happy to have yet another old friend back in his life, but if their thoughts were going in the direction he suspected, he would have to put a stop to that as soon as possible.

"I am very pleased you found each other, then," he commented blandly.

"How about you, Draco? What have you been up to? Have you seen anyone from Hogwarts lately?" Pansy asked.

"Did my mother not tell you? I was staying at the Zabini's. They were kind enough to take me in after my father's trial. I only recently moved here when this house was returned into my possession."

"Indeed, I did not know that. How is Blaise Zabini?"

Draco blinked, surprised. Clearly the news of the accident had not spread beyond their circle. Then again, the people who did know were no gossips, or they had been confined to the Notts' home during Blaise's convalescence.

"Blaise is recovering from an accident at Theo Nott's home, actually. It surprises me you have not heard about it. He was hovering between life and death for almost a day."

Neither Pansy nor Narcissa had heard about the incident, so Draco was encouraged to tell all with more warmth and interest than he had ever received from his mother. He realised, just before he launched into the story, that he would have to mention Hermione in front of his mother, and wondered if she could remember the name. But he turned towards Pansy, kept his face in a carefully arranged subdued mask, and started explaining.

"You must remember Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass from our school years. They married shortly after Hogwarts, and then hid away during the War. They recently had their first child, a daughter, and since Mrs. Zabini is Theo's Godmother, she went to visit them. When she came back, she told Blaise and Flora about the visit, and how beautiful the Lakes are, and Flora and the Potters concocted this mad scheme to go visit them."

"Potter? Harry Potter?" Pansy interrupted, surprised.

"Yes. I do apologize, I am so bad at telling stories. Potter and Weasley were living at the Manor, Malfoy Manor, at the time, which is in the possession of the Ministry. Potter's wife, formerly Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw a year below us, was friends with Miss Zabini during their years at Hogwarts, and she wanted to reconnect. Mrs. Potter and Miss Zabini spent a lot of time together, and so Blaise and I were thrown together with Harry Potter quite often. Weasley occasionally joined us, too, and Miss Granger as well, when she stayed with them." He noticed the burning stare of his mother at the mention of the name, but ignored it.

"She seemed to take a liking to Blaise," he continued, and it was like the pressure of that stare dimmed, if only slightly. "So when Signora Zabini talked about her visit to the Notts, Blaise decided he wanted to see his old friends again, the Potters and Granger wanted to join as well, and I went along, too, of course. We had a great time there, but on the last day, during a walk, Blaise was caught in an avalanche. Astoria and I barely escaped the rocks, but he did not notice what was happening in time to throw up a Shield Charm, and he was buried under a heap of rocks. I managed to get him out from under it, and we sent for a Healer. Daphne and I had to assist, it took her hours to heal all his wounds and broken bones. He was in a coma for a day, then woke up with a massive concussion. He has been staying at the Notts' house since then, convalescing. I believe Mrs. Zabini expects him home for Yule, though. He is almost well enough to travel."

The women exclaimed at all the right times, asked more questions, commended him on keeping his cool in a crisis and his amazing strength that must have helped the Healer.

"Poor Blaise," Pansy sighed, eventually. "I shall make sure I visit him as soon as he is home. I will write to his mother first, I would not want to bother him before he is recovered enough to receive visitors. And poor you." She placed a hand on his arm, stroking him gently, and looking at him with wide, admiring eyes. "It must have been such an ordeal. I cannot believe you managed all that and then still took care of Mrs. Zabini. You are so brave and so strong."

Draco sent her an uncomfortable smile and freed his arm, rising to his feet suddenly.

"I believe it is time for dinner," he said. He purposefully ignored his Mother's outstretched hand, refusing to take either lady into the dining room on his arm, and quickly walked away. He strategically placed himself at the head of the table and motioned for his mother to sit at his left hand, with a stern look, and at Pansy to sit at his right side. Narcissa pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Draco returned her stare with an amiable smile on his face and a challenge in his eyes. He dared her to question his right to sit at the head of the table and to regale her to a secondary place. A quickly concealed glare showed him that the message was received loud and clear, and would be answered later in full. They managed civil conversation throughout dinner, however, mostly because Pansy was an infinite source of gossip and light-hearted conversation, and Draco decided that dinners with Pansy Parkinson made his mother's presence more bearable. Maybe he should invite her more often after all, he thought, sipping his wine and laughing heartily at her stories.

* * *

 _ **AN - Next chapter... Oh dear, that pensieve... No beta so any mistakes are my own. Love to hear what you think! Thank you for all the reviews so far!**_


	15. Return to Society

**15\. Return to Society**

"Draco, are you ready? We shall be late if you do not hurry."

Draco straightened his collar with an irritated sigh and finished tying his cravat in an intricate knot.

"We shall not be late at all, Mother. We still have half an hour before the Montagues expect us." He could not quite keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Come now, Draco, this is important. We are attending the Montagues' dinner party, it means we are no longer rejected by those who avoided us for so long. We can once more take up our rightful place in Pureblood society. You know how much this would have meant to your father."

Draco strode out of his room with a bored expression on his face, his cloak hanging over one arm. He turned weary eyes on his mother. Narcissa Malfoy looked every inch the high society lady she always had been in Draco's childhood, and the image transported him back to those innocent, happy times, if only for a moment.

"And you were doing so well," he drawled, brushing some imaginary dust off his cloak before swinging it around him with a flourish and fastening it around his neck.

"What do you mean?" Narcisse frowned slightly, confused.

"You should know I care not one whit what my father might have thought important. And I do not believe we will ever regain the position we once had in Pureblood society. Father was Kissed. We lost the Manor and our fortunes. You pretend that being invited to the Montagues is on equal footing with an invitation from the Greengrasses, while only a couple of years ago you would not have deigned to even respond to an invitation from that family. You know that as well as I do." He stopped when he saw the hurt expression on her face. "You wanted to go to this dinner, and I agreed to accompany you and play my part. But do not think for even one moment, Mother, that the invitation was anything more than an opportunity for them to humiliate us. Most of these families came out of the War unscathed, and they will treat us like dirt. Politely, of course. It would not do to offend."

"Draco, you exaggerate. They never dare to do that to a Malfoy," his mother protested as she followed him downstairs.

"Before the War, perhaps. Before we lost. You are a fool if you believe otherwise. But this is what you wanted, so we shall just go ahead and smile politely at the veiled insults and barely whispered name-calling. Let it not be said ever again a Malfoy shirked away from social gatherings out of fear."

He offered his arm to his mother and they walked towards the Floo in angry silence.

He was right, of course. The dinner party was just as much of a disaster as he had predicted. Now most of the traditional upper class families were in disgrace or extinct, the lesser Purebloods stepped up and took over their place in society. They were equally prejudiced against Muggles and Muggleborns, but too polite and aware of the new political reality to be tricked into expressing it. They hid behind flirty laughs and soft compassionate words, but they were all, without a doubt, watching the Malfoys with barely concealed glee, preparing to avenge any perceived slight from the pre-War era. But never let it be said that a life in high society could not prepare one to face public scorn with the utmost grace and politeness. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy entered the Montague house with heads held high and shoulders thrown back, pride giving them the courage to meet hateful stares head-on.

The Montagues had welcomed them cordially enough, though that was probably more because they revelled in the novelty of having managed to bring the surviving Malfoys out of their self-imposed solitary confinement for the very first time, and it had given their pre-Yule gathering the necessary cachet. Other families had hurried to respond to their invitations as soon as the rumours of Narcissa Malfoy's attendance began to spread. Everybody wanted to witness the humiliation of the Malfoys having to content themselves with venturing out amongst the gentry they had once despised to find society, now they were being ignored by the upper echelons of the society they once ruled.

Narcissa Malfoy had been the leading lady of Pureblood society for years, though. She knew exactly what everyone was thinking and had taken them by surprise by arriving at the scene fashionably late, looking more regal than ever, her infallible social skills guiding her through each introduction and reacquaintance with grace and dignity. Draco had put his social mask in place, looking, perhaps unfortunately, more like his father than ever, with a barely-there smile, an aloof look in his eyes and disdainfully raised eyebrow expressing constant wonder at the audacity of some people. He stood by his mother, only participating in conversations when addressed directly, his gaze calculated to unsettle the more impertinent, and encourage the more genuine of those who dared to address them.

The Pucey's were the first to greet them and the first to try to provoke Narcissa.

"Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you out and about again, after such a dreadful ordeal. You must miss your husband very much. Or maybe not?" Mrs. Pucey smiled and tried to look sympathetic, but only managed to look startled as the cosmetic spells she had used to remove the evidence of the many years that had passed made it very hard for her facial muscles to move. Narcissa smiled back coldly, recognising the woman but refusing to acknowledge as much. "Thank you. I am sorry, it has been such a long time, I cannot recall… Miss MacDougal, is it not? I'm afraid I cannot remember your married name." The woman flushed with anger but managed to retain her smile. "Pucey, actually. And you know my husband, no doubt? Our son Adrian was a couple of years ahead of yours in Hogwarts."

"Of course, my apologies, like I said, it has been a long time. Draco, darling, did you not join an Adrian Pucey on the Quidditch team? I remember you saying he was… adequate." Narcissa walked on with a regal nod to the Pucey's and an overly adoring look at her son, waiting for the next person to approach her. Mrs. Warrington was only slightly better.

"Narcissa, my dear, how wonderful to see you here tonight. I really thought after everything that happened we would never see you again. So horrible. I believe I would not have dared to stay here after the trials. You truly are so brave!" Cecilia Warrington smiled, and Draco decided she was, perhaps, a little more sincere than their previous interlocutor, but not by much. And of course, a Slytherin calling anyone brave would be considered an insult of the highest order. His goodwill towards her evaporated with her next words, however. "And Draco, so grown up. Did you not bring a partner tonight? My daughter Lavinia would be happy to talk to you if our grown-up conversations get too boring for you, dear." She was not just condescending but also patronizing.

"I'm accompanying my mother, tonight, Madam. I'm sure I can hold my own in any… adult… conversation you may wish to conduct." He managed to reveal just enough scorn to make her eyes widen, but her posture did not falter.

"Of course, my dear. I forget myself. I still think of my Cassius as the little boy he once was, I just cannot believe he is all grown-up. Engaged to be married to Miss Davis. Maybe you remember her from school? I believe she was in your year."

Draco only inclined his head and looked away, bored. He could feel his mother's hand pressing down on his arm, encouraging him to be polite, but he scarcely cared what impression he left on these people whom he was forced to associate with tonight. He let his mind wander, thinking of more enjoyable evenings spent at Zabini Manor with his friends, even when the Potters were there and Hermione Granger was either flirting with Blaise or sending him deathly glares when nobody noticed. Hell, even the evenings spoilt by Weasley's presence were better than this ridiculous theatre.

He was startled out of his pensiveness by an arm looping around his waist and a kiss being pressed on his cheek.

"Draco, darling, don't look so glum," Pansy Parkinson whispered in his ear. Draco smiled at her, genuinely happy to see someone here he could commiserate with. Then Pansy greeted his mother, too, rudely interrupting the Pritchard woman who was needling his mother for details of his father's execution.

"Do you mind if I borrow Draco for a moment?" Draco heard her ask, and then he was whisked away through the throng of people to a less crowded part of the room, a Firewhiskey shoved into his hand and a mischievous smile on Pansy's face.

"Well? Are you not happy I rescued you?"

"I have not the honour of understanding what you mean, Miss Parkinson. I was having a perfectly agreeable conversation with Mrs. Pritchard."

"You have scarcely opened your mouth in the last fifteen minutes at least. And you were scowling so hard for most of that time, half the people in this room are whispering about Death Eaters and Dark Curses. Seriously, Draco, if you want to get any semblance of a social life any time soon, you had better avoid remind people of the past and show them the changed man you are."

"True, but for one thing. You assume I want to spend more time with these people, Pansy. I do not."

"Why? They occupy the place we once held in society. It would be in our best interests to build new relationships here. The old names do not mean much if they are not accepted by the new order."

"I should hardly consider these people the new order. They may like to think they are, but the wizarding world has changed and these people are falling over themselves to fill a place that simply no longer exists. Blood and lineage will never be as important as they once were, and I truly believe that can only be a good evolution. Wizards and witches will gain respect based on their abilities, their skills, their character, not their bloodline."

Pansy laughed, and the studied, musical sound grated on Draco's nerves. "Very liberal of you, darling. And I suppose you are right, at least where it concerns the Ministry. But I'm talking about our social lives, Draco, and that is very different."

"I cannot see how. Why would I make an effort to get along with these people, when we have nothing in common? I prefer to make an effort with people I actually like. I would have dinner with Potter over this any day."

"Nobody is saying that people like the Potters may not have a place in your life, too. And, after all, Harry Potter is the Great Saviour of the Wizarding World, of course you should be seen with him. But this… This is what we've been brought up to do since childhood, Draco. And imagine what we could do together, with our upbringing, our bloodlines, the last of the ancient families… If we play the game well, in a few years we can rule again, lead high society, take our rightful place in this social circle. But you really should be more civil, darling. No point in scaring off half the minions before they have served any purpose." She laughed again, but Draco did not join in the joke. He was at a loss for words and stared at Pansy in consternation.

"I think we'll have to agree to disagree, Miss Parkinson," he muttered eventually, suddenly conscious of the intimate hold Pansy had on him and the many speculative glances thrown their way.

Before Pansy could resume the argument, Narcissa came up to them in a cloud of swirling robes.

"Draco, come along. I was just talking to Mrs. Shafiq and she has expressed the wish to introduce us to Mr. Shacklebolt. Minister Shacklebolt, that is. Come, Draco, please, this is important," she exclaimed in too loud a voice, ensuring everyone around them heard they were about to be introduced to the Minister of Magic.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him along, and Draco only just managed not to stumble and make it look as if walking away with his mother had been his plan all along.

"Mother, what are you doing?" he asked through gritted teeth, his lips fixed in a smile for the many curious onlookers.

Narcissa stopped and turned to him, casting a quick muffliato with a flick of her wand.

"Draco, we are to be introduced to Minister Shacklebolt. You know how important it is to be… known to him. He could help you rebuild your life, make sure you receive the respect that has always been the due of the House of Malfoy in the past. This is our chance, my son. Please. This is for you as much as anyone. You decided you wanted to live here, so you need people to know you are on good and even intimate terms with the Minister. You just… Come along now, we cannot keep him waiting."

Draco followed his mother, his face slipping back into a carefully crafted bored but polite mask. His mind was still reeling from the discussion with Pansy and his sudden realisation that she was aiming for marriage, not just friendship. Now his mother wanted to drag him into another one of her schemes for rehabilitating the Malfoys, and it was just too much.

He remembered Mrs. Shafiq when he was introduced to her. She had always been kind to him and the twinkle in her eyes reminded him of Mrs. Zabini. He bowed and looked up at her with a genuine smile.

"You look as young as ever, Madam, I can hardly believe it but you have changed not one little bit since I saw you last."

Mrs. Shafiq blushed and swatted at him. "Oh, hush, boy, stop being ridiculous. It has been almost twenty years."

He kissed her hand with a flirtatious look and said quietly: "But I can recall that moment as if it was yesterday, for your radiant beauty remained burned into my memories forever, and you look even more glorious than I remember."

Mrs. Shafiq laughed, tracing a hand over her now greying hair. "I cannot, for the life of me, imagine where you got those manners from, boy, for from your father it certainly was not. Maybe for the best, hmm?" And with a wink she turned around, placing her hand in the crook of his arm, effectively displacing Narcissa. She lead them towards a tall black wizard in colourful robes. He was surrounded by people, and seemed to have a smile for all of them. Draco noticed that he looked quite at ease, but his shoulders were a little tense and his eyes darted left and right every few seconds. When he saw Mrs. Shafiq approaching on the arm of Draco Malfoy, he excused himself to his admirers and made his way towards them.

"Amina, I had not expected to see you here." He greeted the witch with a formal bow.

"Oh, Kingsley, the first grand event of the Yule Season, how could I miss it," Mrs. Shafiq responded with a swift curtsey that almost took Draco by surprise, as she was still clutching his arm.

"May I introduce Draco Malfoy? And I believe you will remember Narcissa from your time at Hogwarts."

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned to Narcissa first, bowed low and smiled at her. "Of course I remember the beautiful Black flower. Who could forget? A pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Madam."

Draco had never seen his mother blush before. Then again, he had never heard her referred to as a beautiful black flower, and it took him a moment to realise that she had been Narcissa Black at Hogwarts, so of course that would have been her nickname.

"You are most kind, Minister," was all an embarrassed Narcissa managed to mutter before the man turned to Draco and held out his hand.

"And an honour to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. I have heard some good things about you lately. How is Mr. Zabini, by the way?"

Draco shook the hand the Minister had extended to him. He was a little dismayed by that last statement but managed to hide his change in countenance with a cough. Of course Potter would be on intimate terms with the Minister and of course he would have talked about the accident at the Lakes.

"And an honour to meet you, Minister Shacklebolt. My friend is doing very well, I thank you. I must say, I was very impressed with the recent reorganisations you have been pushing through. I am certain the Ministry of Magic will prosper under your guidance."

Shacklebolt permitted a small smile. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mr. Malfoy, but I cannot take the credit for all of that. I have some very competent people working for me, and they manage to make the improbable possible. I could always use more support, of course."

"Draco was always an intelligent boy. I am confident he has better things to do with his time than to work for you, Kingsley. And he definitely should have enough common sense not to be recruited at a party." Amina Shafiq winked at him and sent a mischievous smile at the Minister, who only smiled back equally mischievously. "Perhaps you are right, Madam Shafiq. Draco, expect an owl next week. I should like to discuss this further some other time. Unfortunately I cannot talk too long. Mingling and socialising, how I do detest the duties of a Minister." Kingsley Shacklebolt struck a theatrical pose and then took his leave with a self-deprecating smile.

"Thank you, Minister." Draco was surprised he managed not to stutter and that he found the words to respond. Now Shacklebolt wanted to give him a job? He had no idea if he would accept it, but what a change his life had undergone in just a few weeks' time. If word spread - and it would, since just about everyone in the vicinity had followed their conversation with interest - maybe that would mean that some day he might walk through the Ministry or Diagon Alley without fearing someone would hex him in the back.

Mrs. Shafiq kept hold of him a little longer, and even managed to maneuver herself next to him at their dinner table. He had to admit he enjoyed her company. The witch had many anecdotes to share and seemed to have the same amused disdain for their fellow guests as he had. Her opinions were worlds apart from Pansy Parkinson's, and by the time the dinner came to an end and he and his mother finally left, he'd almost started wondering why he had been so reluctant to come in the first place.

His mother considered the whole evening a success, of course, and as soon as they walked out the Floo in their home, she sighed happily, spread her arms out and twirled on her toes.

"Oh, Draco, is it not wonderful? See how the Minister talked to you, and Mrs. Shafiq really did take a shine to you, too, did she not? What a perfect evening, my darling!"

Draco was too tired to respond and reluctant to start another row, so he let the comment slide and just retreated to his room, hoping to find sleep.

* * *

 ** _AN - I'm so sorry! I've had this ready for about a week or so and I was certain I had already posted it and it turns out not. I promise another chapter before Christmas but after that you'll probably have to wait till January. Holidays, family obligations, you know what it's like..._**

 ** _Hope you enjoy! Thanks to hobbit penguin for the beta!_**


	16. A friendship renewed

**16\. A friendship renewed**

Draco was glad his mother's fondness of Pansy allowed him to leave the women to their own amusement most afternoons, so he could spend that time elsewhere. Their constant society nonsense began to grate on his nerves, and he was happy for any excuse to escape. Luckily his renewed acquaintance with Amina Shafiq gave him ample excuse to leave the house. The woman had decided to take him under her wing since that evening at the Montagues. Many doors opened for a former member of the Wizengamot - she had resigned upon her husband's death - and so those doors also began to open for him. When he entered the Leaky Cauldron at her side, he was served instead of ignored. When he accompanied her into Flourish & Blotts, they smiled at him instead of looking through him as if he were air. And she kept introducing him to more and more highly ranking Ministry officials. He could only bless the day that brought him to her attention. He would always fondly remember the moment they had run into the Head Auror at the Ministry, only a few days before.

"You know Mr. Robards, the Head Auror, I presume? Mr. Robards, have you met Mr. Malfoy?"

And the burly Head Auror who had sneered at Draco when he was in prison, was forced to shake his hand under the withering glare of Mrs. Shafiq. Draco thought it was quite exhilarating, the way she sallied forth and scolded any opposition into submission.

That afternoon, he'd escaped the Dragon's Nest in a hurry, realising his mother and Miss Parkinson were about to embark on a thorough discussion of yet another boring social event they had attended. Draco firmly believed that just living through the event once was quite enough to test his sanity. He had travelled to Diagon Alley by Floo, with the aim of passing by the Apothecary to see if it could be viable to start up his own Potions company.

He ran into Harry and Luna Potter while he was examining the shelves with Calming Draughts and comparing the prices to the average price of the ingredients.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a surprise to see you here," Luna Potter exclaimed when she saw him. She walked up to him, Harry hovering at her elbow, and curtsied in greeting.

"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter. It is, as always, a pleasure to see you. You are more radiant every time we meet." He bowed at Luna with a wink and offered the witch his arm. "What brings you to Diagon Alley on this windy December day, my dear?"

Luna Potter placed a hand on her slightly bulging stomach and smiled.

"Ah. I see. Is it common knowledge yet?" His voice dropped to a whisper to avoid other people overhearing.

Mrs. Potter shook her head slightly, the mistletoe berries hanging from her ears catching the light with the movement. It was only then he realised they were not, as he had first thought, pearls. "No, we are trying to keep it quiet, we have some time yet before I will show."

"My congratulations," he whispered in her ear, then, smiling at Harry, he continued in a normal tone. "How is work going, Mr. Potter?"

Harry Potter looked relieved at the change of subject. He hooked his thumbs in his robe pockets and straightened his spine, suddenly looking very much like the Auror he was, and not so much the friend Draco had come to know. "Very well, thank you. Chasing Dark wizards and rescuing Kneazles from trees, the usual. I hear your mother is in town?"

Draco managed not to roll his eyes at the reminder. His smile faded from his face. "She is staying with me, yes. Luckily she has found a very amiable companion in Pansy Parkinson, so I need not keep her company the whole time. Otherwise my sanity might have suffered."

Harry Potter raised an eyebrow, as if to challenge his words, but he only said, "I suppose that is true."

"I can make the potions you need if you get the ingredients," Draco offered in a quiet voice, as he saw Luna's hand reach out for a selection of pregnancy potions. "I'm afraid your secret will be out if you buy those here, with all these people watching."

Luna turned back to him, her grey eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed, as if she only now realised how close they had come to spilling their secret. "Most kind of you, Mr. Malfoy. I shall be happy to take you up on your offer. You were always good at Potions, were you not? Harry is an absolute disaster, he can barely get a Calming Draught right. I can only imagine the Nargles helped him through his NEWTs." Luna smiled her ethereal smile at him, then started walking towards the Dreamless Sleep Potions. Draco followed, as she still had her own arm hooked into his.

"Any other news?" Draco asked over his shoulder, with feigned nonchalance. Something in his eyes must have conveyed to Potter what he wanted to know, because his face became serious in an instant, and he leaned a little closer to Draco, his eyes shifting every which way to ensure nobody could overhear. "I am not making much progress. The area was wiped clean of magical signatures when I returned, not even yours or Hermione's, which is suspicious. But I am not giving up. I have arranged discreet guards for Blaise and Hermione, though she would kill me if she knew I was keeping this from her. I hope you are being careful when you go out, yourself?"

"I always am."

Harry and Luna discussed the purchase of some potions while Draco let his eyes wander around the shop. He noticed the curious stare of most people, disapproval in some eyes and indifference in others. They looked eagerly at Harry Potter but wearily at the son of a condemned Death Eater who surely had been one himself. Though his acquittal had been widely publicised, the exact details of the hardships he had suffered during the War had been kept secret. There were still many rumours going around about the reasons for his proclaimed innocence.

His attention was drawn back to Potter when the man tapped his arm lightly. Luna had taken some potions to the counter and started a discussion with a witch about Nargles and Wrackspurts and their possible influence on the effectiveness of Dreamless Sleep Potions.

"You were friends with Greg Goyle in Hogwarts, were you not?"

Draco nodded. "I fear we lost touch after we graduated,though."

"Did you know he is at St. Mungo's? He fell victim to a very nasty curse. It was an unprovoked attack, either because of his father, or because he rescued a Muggleborn some time during the War and was considered a blood traitor by the Dark side ever since. The poor man has both sides against him, which would be ironic if it had not resulted in this vicious assault. Unfortunately he was attacked from behind and he has no recollection whatsoever of what happened, so we cannot do much." The frustration at their lack of progress in the investigation was evident from his voice and face.

Draco had heard, through the grapevine, that Gregory Goyle had lost favour with the Dark Lord, but he had never known the details. To have his old friend attacked in such a cowardly fashion was a nasty shock. "Will he recover?"

Harry Potter nodded reassuringly. "The healers seemed quite hopeful, actually, but it will take time. He suffered under a prolonged Cruciatus Curse and almost completely drained of magic, so he has to rest a lot. He is staying at the hospital for the time being, it seems his parents disowned him and he has no place to go now. He had been sleeping on the streets, so he was an easy target for revenge, whichever side it came from." Harry's voice was laced with disdain and anger.

To know that his friend had not only been attacked, but also no longer had any place or means to live off, was very unsettling. He knew, in that instant, that he would renew their friendship and offer the man whatever assistance was in his power. "Poor Greg. I shall visit him soon, that should cheer him up a little. Thank you for letting me know."

"I should have remembered that you knew him as soon as I saw him safely to St. Mungo's, but it only occurred to me now." Potter looked so shamefaced that Draco felt compelled to say, "Don't worry about it, Potter. I know now."

"Are you ready to go home, Harry?" Luna had come up to them, leaving a befuddled clerk behind.

Harry smiled brightly at the prospect of leaving the overly crowded shop and offered his arm to his wife. "Of course, Luna. "

Mrs. Potter handed Draco a parcel with a range of potions ingredients and then said her hasty goodbyes. "We really should go now. Do come and visit us at Grimmauld Place soon, Draco."

"Thank you for the invitation, my dear Mrs. Potter, I certainly will." He kissed her hand with a flourish that made her giggle and nodded at Harry. "Bye, Potter!"

As the Potters left the Apothecary, Draco lingered in the shop, fingering some of the bottles absent-mindedly. 'Maybe I will have more than one good excuse to get out of the house after all', he thought.

* * *

Draco managed to get away from his inquisitive mother the very next day. He went to St. Mungo's after a little detour via the Diagon Alley Honeydukes branch. Gregory Goyle always did have a weakness for Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes. The wizard at the hospital's front desk glared at him disdainfully and, at first, refused to tell him where Goyle was. It was a stroke of luck that Mrs. Shafiq happened to enter the hospital just then, probably chasing one of her charitable causes.

"Mr. Malfoy, how unexpected to see you here. I hope you are well?" Her curious eyes quickly assessed him to be free of any visible wounds. The concern in her voice touched him deeply.

"My dear lady, what a pleasant surprise. I am here to visit a friend, Mr. Gregory Goyle, but this nice gentleman seems unable to tell me where I can find him." The hardness in his eyes belied his smile, and Mrs. Shafiq understood instantly. She turned her most intimidating glare on the unsuspecting wizard, who flinched visibly before steeling himself.

"I believe this man asked you for a room number. I hope you are capable of reading an information chart? Which room is Mr. Goyle's?" Her voice was ice cold.

"Madam Shafiq! Apologies. We are not allowed to hand out patient information to strangers and…"

"Mr. Malfoy is not asking for patient information. He is not asking about Mr. Goyle's condition or his prognosis. He is asking in which room he can find Mr. Goyle so he can visit his friend. Are you going to tell him which room number or shall I take this up with Healer Merrybanks?" Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. Mrs. Shafiq was prepared to take this all the way to the Head Healer? How refreshing to have such a formidable ally.

The man behind the desk folded immediately and shakily began to rifle through some papers, and eventually muttered: "Fourth floor. Room fifteen."

"Thank you, sir, and Yule Blessings to you," Draco said with an icy smile, then turning to Mrs. Shafiq, "And you, of course, my dear friend. I hope to see you tonight at the Warrington's dinner?"

Mrs. Shafiq inclined her head. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Will you honour me with your company at dinner? It will make for much more interesting conversation than any of those tiresome society belles."

"Most kind, Madam Shafiq. I should be happy to oblige you." He bowed over her hand. "Please excuse me, I would really like to go visit my friend now."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I am meeting Healer Merrybanks and the Board of Trustees, so I shall be in the hospital for quite some time." _So if you have any more trouble, you know where to find me._ Draco understood the implication and was grateful.

"I hope your meeting goes well. Good afternoon, Madam Shafiq."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy."

They nodded and parted ways, Mrs. Shafiq walking towards the Head Healer's office without another glance at the wizard behind the desk, Draco going to the lifts and smirking back at him over his shoulder.

He found room fifteen on level four quite easily, ignoring the stares and glares from the staff at the Mediwizard station.

Gregory Goyle was lying in his bed, eyes closed, paler than Draco had ever seen him, and thinner too. Draco hesitated in the doorway, but an angry huff behind him made him step into the room. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a witch in green Healer's robes glaring at him, disdain and disapproval clear in her eyes. Draco resisted the urge to stick his tongue out and turned back to the patient.

He walked closer to the bed and sat down in a chair, placing the sweets he had brought with him on a side table. His eyes lingered for a moment on the slight rise and fall of Goyle's chest, then he stared out the window, not wanting to disturb the hopefully healing sleep of the recovering patient.

"Draco?"

Draco blinked and looked back at the man in the bed. He had opened his eyes and stared curiously at his visitor.

"Hello, Greg."

They just looked at each other, Draco squirming uncomfortably in the silence.

"What are you doing here?" Greg finally asked.

"Potter told me you were here, so I came to visit. I apologize for not getting in touch before. It has been a strange few months. Years, actually."

"Yes."

Greg was silent again, his eyes raking over Draco incredulously. "You really are here." He sighed. "I have had hardly any visitors."

"I'm sorry. I would have come earlier, had I known before." Draco smiled and gestured towards the chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes. "I brought some sweets. I hope you still like… I mean, I did not know if…"

Greg looked over at the side table and smiled back at Draco.

"Thank you. I have not had a Cauldron Cake in ages. Could you…" He flushed in embarrassment, his hands reaching out to the sweets but falling back down on the bed, trembling from the exertion.

Draco had learnt to keep a straight face at his Mother's knee, so he had no problem hiding the compassion and shock at his friend's weakness. He knew Greg would find it more mortifying to receive any pity than it had been to display his current fragile state. He reached out, took a Cauldron Cake from the box and unwrapped it, handing it to his friend, wordlessly. He looked away then, strangely moved by the obvious delight in Greg's face as he bit into the cake.

The silence wasn't quite as uncomfortable as before, though, and Draco let his mind wander, thoughts of Blaise and Hermione rising unbidden, taunting him. Were they happy? Were they engaged yet? Had Miss Granger returned from her visit to her birth parents? He pushed the unsettling thoughts away with an effort, aided by Greg's voice that broke the silence.

"How have you been occupying your time?" Greg sounded genuinely interested, and Draco told him about the trials, his father's sentence, his Mother's move to France, reconnecting with Blaise and making friends with the Potters. He left out talking about Hermione, other than mentioning Blaise was close to her. He ended with his Mother's return to England and her attempts to regain some status in society, and his renewed friendship with Pansy.

They were interrupted by a couple of Healers entering the room.

"It is time for your check-up, Mr. Goyle. Could you wait outside, please, Sir?" The woman in green robes flicked her eyes over Draco once and dismissed him, focussing on her patient instead.

"Actually, I have to go. But it was good to see you, Greg. I can come again tomorrow, if you want." Draco rose from his seat. Greg nodded, his eyes lighting up, but his face otherwise passive.

"Bring some more Cauldron Cakes."

Draco just smiled and waved goodbye as he left.

* * *

He had visited Greg Goyle almost every day for a week before Narcissa became aware of it.

"Where do you always run off to, Draco? We hardly ever see you any more," she complained over breakfast, which she had uncharacteristically decided to take in the dining room with him.

"Greg Goyle is in the hospital recovering from a very nasty Cruciatus attack. I've been visiting him almost every day." Draco was careful not to put too much emotion in any of his words. He had realised that he appreciated Greg's humour and conversation much more than he ever had at Hogwarts. He felt guilty about that, but his visits were not motivated only by guilt. He genuinely enjoyed his friend's company.

"That seems rather generous for a school friend you haven't seen in years." The cold dismissal sent chills down Draco's spine. He took a deep breath and waited until his mother looked up from her tea.

"That was hardly my choice, Mother," he said, pointedly.

There was a flash of anger in her eyes but she hid it quickly. Not quickly enough for Draco to miss it, though.

"I believe he was disowned, Draco. Why would you spend your time on someone who is really of no consequence to you? I mean, the Zabini's gave you a place to live, Harry Potter is the Wizarding World's Golden Hero, Madam Shafiq can open doors… But what can you have to gain from a _Goyle_?" The disdain in her voice was so clear, it took all of Draco's resolve not to lash out at his mother. He counted to ten in English and Latin and took a deep breath. When he felt equal to it, he met her stare with a smile.

"I decided to renew our friendship. I'm making sure he knows he still has friends left, even if his family did decide to disown him."

"Your Father would never have approved. Your time can be better spent at home, renewing your acquaintance with Miss Parkinson."

"I no longer live by his standards. And I urge you not to ever mention anything like that again, if you want to keep considering this house as your home." The smile had left his face now, his jaw set in a stubborn line and his eyes dark with suppressed anger. Narcissa pursed her lips but refrained from commenting.

"And you are visiting him tonight even though we have been invited to dine with the Warringtons again?"

Draco did not shrug but the feeling could not have been plainer from his reaction. "They only invited us this morning, clearly we are just there to make up numbers. I do not feel any obligation to go, and I promised Greg I would visit him tonight. I have that meeting with Kingsley tomorrow and Potter invited me over for dinner afterwards. Since you have packed our days with all those events and appointments before Yule next week, I think it is unlikely I can find any other time to see him until after Yule. So I will not be joining you at the Warringtons, Mother, and that is the end of it."

Narcissa stared at him with a calculating look, then a small smile broke through her mask.

"As you wish, son." She rose gracefully and left the dining room, and Draco did not see her again until the next morning at breakfast, when he had to listen to her exulting over the dinner last night, how Mrs. Montague had complimented her on her dress, how Mrs. Warrington had welcomed her so warmly, and how Miss Parkinson had been thrilled to accompany Narcissa.

"What a wonderful girl she is, Draco. So well-mannered, so graceful. A true Pureblood rose. She would be a catch for any man, do you not agree?" Her face was too innocent not to raise his suspicions, and Draco began to understand his mother was hoping to complete a match between them. He avoided her eyes carefully.

"If you say so, Mother," he said in his most non-committal voice.

* * *

 **AN - thank you for all the reviews so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter.** ** **No beta for this one because I promised an update before Christmas and then work got really crazy so I just wanted to get it out.** I probably won't update until mid-January.  
**

 **Happy New Year my dear readers! May 2017 bring you health, joy and happiness!**


	17. A surprise engagement

**17\. A Surprise Engagement**

Draco entered the Ministry via the Floo, and took a moment to straighten his robes before setting off through the Atrium towards the top floor, where the Minister for Magic had his office. He ignored the glares and whispers, but had to stop himself from breaking into a run. He fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves and wished he had someone walking next to him. He could feel their stares pricking at his back and one of his hands stole towards his wand, ready to cast a shielding charm at the slightest provocation. Maybe this meeting with the Minister was a mistake. A young witch took a step back when he stopped next to her to check which stairs to take, and he forced himself to keep from scowling at her.

The moving stairs were a feat of modern magical construction, reminiscent of the famous Hogwarts staircases, but, much like Hogwarts, they were a maze for those not familiar with it. An attendant raised a questioning eye at him, and after asking which staircase would take him to the Minister's office, he was pointed in the right direction. He breathed a sigh of relief when he arrived at his destination, where a young wizard sat behind a desk. He looked up as Draco approached.

The Secretary, a Mr. Thomas, if the plate on his desk was to be believed, scrunched up his nose at the sight of him, but Draco decided to ignore it. The Minister himself had asked for this meeting, surely his Secretary knew that?

"Draco Malfoy to see Minister Shacklebolt," he told Mr. Thomas, with a cold nod.

"What is this about?" The wizard peered over his spectacles with a look of barely concealed disdain.

"If the Minister has not seen fit to enlighten you, it is not for me to do so. The Minister himself asked me to come here at this hour, so here I am." Draco sent his best haughty stare at the man, who regarded him coolly and then waved at a seat nearby.

"I will let him know you are here. Have a seat."

Draco sat down, trying not to stare at the painting of Urg the Unclean leading a Goblin rebellion. It was a little too life-like for his tastes.

Time passed by, and Draco began to feel uneasy. He coughed to catch the Secretary's attention. "Excuse me. When will the Minister see me?"

Mr. Thomas looked up with a sigh. "The Minister is a busy man, Mr. Malfoy."

"I appreciate that, of course." Draco pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "But I believe my appointment was twenty minutes ago. Did I miss the owl he sent out to cancel?"

"You just have to wait, Mr. Malfoy." The secretary turned pointedly back to his paperwork.

Footsteps in the corridor announced the arrival of another visitor. Draco recognised Head Auror Robards and cringed inwardly. He tried not to think of how mortifying it would be to sit here waiting with Robards until the Minister had time for them.

The Secretary jumped up when Robards came up to his desk. "You can go straight through, Head Auror Robards." Draco noticed he even bowed to the Head Auror, who just then noticed him. Draco had recovered his composure and simply nodded at the man, puzzled now why he was sent through while Draco was still waiting, over thirty minutes after the appointment time. Was Shacklebolt just playing a game? He had seemed quite sincere in his invitation. Draco narrowed his eyes at the Secretary, but before he could get up and demand an explanation, the door to the Minister's office opened and Shacklebolt and Robards both walked out, arguing.

"I still think you can trust him, Robards. You've seen how well he did in training, this is not some quest for more notoriety," the Minister said in his most authoritative voice.

"You know why I have my reservations. Especially since it concerns…" Robards stopped, his eyes flicking at Draco. Kingsley Shacklebolt followed his glance and he met Draco's eyes with a look of genuine surprise.

"Mr. Malfoy? What are you doing here? I just received your message that you could not keep the appointment," Shacklebolt said, walking up to Draco and shaking his hand.

Draco looked pointedly at the Secretary, who flushed.

"I arrived more than half an hour ago, Minister, but I believe there seems to be a misunderstanding. I thought your Secretary told me he would notify you of my arrival, not that he would tell you I could not make it."

Mr. Thomas flushed an even deeper shade of red.

"Sir, I… I mean, I didn't… I have no idea…" he stammered, wringing his hands in desperation and his eyes wide and pleading.

"I have no need to hear your excuses. I should fire you over this. Consider this a formal warning, Thomas."

"But Sir, he's a Death Eater, you cannot mean to..." the Secretary protested, offended.

The Minister cut in. "If you cannot perform your duties, Mr. Thomas, you can go. When I have an appointment with someone, you will let them through. Understand?" Shacklebolt had drawn himself up to his full height and was blazing with anger. Draco was impressed.

"Yes, Sir." the man said meekly.

"I'm sure you want to apologise to Mr. Malfoy, too."

Thomas looked at the Minister as if he had suddenly started speaking Gobbledegook.

"Sir, I…"

"I do not have all day, Thomas, and I am running late with my appointments now."

Mr. Thomas glared at Draco but mumbled an apology, then sat back down, stubbornly ignoring the other three men. Robards had not interfered at all, but he had been watching Draco with a weary eye. He coughed uncomfortably.

"Perhaps I can sit in on your interview with Mr. Malfoy," he suggested. Draco saw the Secretary nodding vigorously at the idea, but Shacklebolt shook his head.

"I am not interviewing Mr. Malfoy. We just have some things to discuss regarding his future in the Wizarding world. There is no need for you to be present, Head Auror Robards."

Robards dropped all pretense of formality in his haste to object. "Kingsley, you cannot be serious. Someone with his past…"

"I do not need your protection to talk to Mr. Malfoy, Robards," Shacklebolt cut in, one eye twitching in irritation.

"I have no objection, Sir."

Both men turned to look at Draco, who repeated what he had said.

"I have no objection, if it makes Head Auror Robards feel better. I am sure we have nothing to discuss that he is not allowed to hear, even if it does not concern him in the least."

The jab made Robards eyes flash with annoyance, but he had no opportunity to retort.

"Fine, we have wasted enough time." Shacklebolt turned on his heel and walked back into his office, Draco following him and Robards being the last to enter.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down behind his desk and motioned at the chair in front of it for Draco. "Sit down, please, Mr. Malfoy. Head Auror Robards, you may take the chair near the door." That placed Robards out of Draco's view, and if the man hadn't been breathing so loudly, he might have forgotten he was even there.

"What did you want to see me for, Minister?"

"Oh, call me Kingsley, Mr. Malfoy. I wanted to talk to you about how you see your future in the Wizarding world. I understand it must be difficult for you, after your experiences in the War, and your father's sentence depriving you of the inheritance you had been brought up to expect. But you must have some idea what you want to do, now your life is back in your own hands?"

Draco sat back in his chair, staring at the desk reflectively. His eyes followed the grain of the whitened wood while he tried to sort out his thoughts.

"May I ask why you take such an interest, Sir?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned forward and placed his chin in his hand, studying Draco for a moment. Then he explained, in as short a manner as he could, that the positive, if not glowing, reports he had received from Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, two personal friends of his, about his conduct during the incident at the Lakes, had made him very interested indeed. "The Ministry can use people who can keep their heads straight in difficult circumstances, Mr. Malfoy," he concluded, with a decisive nod.

Draco blinked in surprise. So Mrs. Shafiq had been right after all?

"Working here? In what capacity? Nobody would want me here."

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair again, stretched his arms up and then laced his hands behind his head. He eyed the young Malfoy before him speculatively.

"I could endorse your application for any position at the Ministry, should that be what you are interested in," he explained.

Draco pointedly refused to look at the Minister, brushing his nails on his robe as he spoke softly. "Any position?"

"Any work you would be qualified to apply for. I obviously will not make you head of a department, but if that is your goal I can make sure you can enter the department of your choice and then you can work your way up yourself. I can make sure your past does not hold you back."

Draco's lips twisted with a suppressed smile. He looked up at the Minister, his eyes alight with amusement.

"So if I wanted to become an Auror..." He let the words trail off. He heard rustling behind him and knew Robards was making signs to Shacklebolt, who was very elaborately ignoring him.

"If that is what you want, I will endorse your application for Auror training, provided you have achieved high enough scores in the relevant subjects at Hogwarts."

"WHAT? Kingsley, you can't be serious. I will not have a former Death Eater on my team, I…"

Draco turned around to face Robards, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "So surely you have gotten rid of all the Aurors who supported the Dark Lord?"

Robards turned bright red with rage.

"Take it easy, Gawain. Mr. Malfoy was only joking, I believe."

Draco turned back to Shacklebolt. "About becoming an Auror, yes. I was actually thinking of becoming a Potions Master."

The Minister studied him with narrowed eyes. "Not here at the Ministry?"

"I prefer to remain independent, Sir," Draco said carefully.

The Minister nodded, understanding the implications.

"Unfortunately, I cannot do much to help you there, but I will be happy to support your application for your Mastery, make sure it does not get lost."

"Thank you, Minister."

Shacklebolt smiled at him now. "I wish you all the best with your future life, Mr. Malfoy. I am afraid I need to go now, or I will be late for a meeting with the Unspeakables. Let me know when you plan to submit your Potions Mastery application."

The Minister rose and Draco did the same, shaking his hand and then leaving the office. Robards followed him out. They kept pace along the corridor and down the moving stairs. Robards glared at him the entire time, though Draco pretended not to notice.

"I shall be keeping an eye on you, Malfoy," he grunted before getting out at the second floor.

"If you insist on wasting your resources, by all means. I have nothing to hide, Mr. Robards." Draco left out his title on purpose and accompanied his statement with a thin smile. The thought that he had irritated the Head Auror immensely made that smile widen while he descended the last few steps towards the Atrium.

* * *

Draco was walking through the Atrium when someone grabbed his arm. He almost drew his wand to cast a protective spell when a well-known voice exclaimed his name excitedly and he was enveloped in the smell of gardenias and roses. It was Mrs. Zabini.

"Draco, carissimo, what a lovely surprise!"

Draco turned towards her and smiled through the two kisses that were smacked onto his cheeks. She grabbed his chin and tilted his head first left then right, tutting in disapproval. "You do not eat enough, caro, you look too thin and tired."

Draco, though a little embarrassed at the affectionate words and gestures, recovered enough to greet her with his usual elaborate compliments. "Signora, you are looking more beautiful than ever." He took a step back and released himself from her grip, then made a respectful bow. "What brings you to the Ministry?"

Mrs. Zabini laughed, taking his arm and walking him towards the Floo queue, which was very long. 'They really ought to add some more fireplaces', Draco thought idly as they took their place in the line.

"I came to see an old friend. Are you leaving? I, as well. We can wait our turn together. It seems like forever since I have seen you, carissimo, and so much has happened! Blaise is back home, I could not be happier. He is still a little fragile, he simply cannot stand sudden loud noises, but he can sit up for a whole afternoon at a time, and he no longer has dizzy spells. Theo, Daphne, and Astoria came over as well. I offered to host them for the Yule celebrations, as they are no longer in touch with their families. And of course little Ella is with them too, such a dream of a child. Astoria is quite the miracle, you know. So patient with Blaise, so kind to Flora, a joy to have in the house. She will be a lovely addition to the family, do you not agree?" They had slowly progressed to the front of the queue, and Draco had let her words cascade over him, basking in the memories of happy times at the Zabini estate. But the last statement caught his attention. He snapped his gaze towards her, confused. "An addition to the family? What do you mean, Signora?" His breath caught painfully in his chest. He must have misunderstood.

"Oh Draco, you do not know? Blaise asked Astoria to marry him! They are engaged and will be married in Spring! I am so happy, my heart overflows with joy! My precious son, he is finally settling down, and with such a wonderful and caring girl, too. No better choice, I'm sure. But, oh caro, I am sorry, I know at one point there was talk of you and Miss Greengrass…"

"No, no, not at all! I never… I had not heard the news but I could not be happier that Blaise has found someone to share his life with. Truly," Draco hastened to assure her. There were only a few more people before they would reach the fireplaces, and he knew he had little time left. "What you tell me is most unexpected. Why, he did not seem to favour her at all when we were at the Lakes that first weekend. What changed?" He tried not to sound too eager but his mind could not stop spinning. He needed to know, to understand.

Mrs Zabini sighed dramatically and threw her hands out. "Oh, who knows. They spent a lot of time together, while he was recovering. She and Flora would always be sitting with Blaise. I suppose they must have fallen in love then. Maybe he always did have a soft spot for her, he knew her in Hogwarts too, after all." She made a dismissive gesture and Draco understood she did not much care how it all came about, as long as her son was happy.

Some angry huffing and coughing and not-so-subtle pushes behind them alerted Draco that it was their turn to use the Floo. "It seems it is time for us to part again, Signora. I would love to talk to you some more but I have to go. I shall visit soon."

"That would be wonderful, Draco, you know you are always welcome. Go now, caro." She gave him a little push towards one of the free fireplaces and went to the closest one herself. With a little wave she vanished into the green flames. Draco disappeared soon after.

He stumbled into his drawing room. He had not stumbled after using the Floo since he was a child, but he felt too unbalanced to care about the unkempt and clumsy image he presented. Blaise and Astoria! Blaise and ASTORIA! Not Hermione… He wondered how she felt about this development. He was quite certain she had had some romantic feelings for Blaise. Was she heart-broken, sad, indifferent? His mind was reeling, but one thought returned again and again. She was free.

* * *

Luna Potter welcomed him into the Potter home later that evening, pouring out Firewhiskey for her guest and explaining that Harry had only just gotten home and was changing.

Draco handed over the pregnancy potions he had prepared for Mrs. Potter and accepted the Firewhiskey. He seated himself on the sofa at her invitation and looked around curiously. The room seemed oddly familiar, and it took him only a few moments to realise that Luna Potter was telling him about its illustrious history.

"Are you telling me this is the old Black House? I came here as a child, though I hardly remember… My mother used to visit. There was nobody else, you see." Draco paused and thought of his mother, the last of the Blacks, in many ways, who had taken her duty to her family very seriously. She had visited with her parents regularly, since she was the only one left, her sister Andromeda disowned and Bellatrix in Azkaban. Later, when her parents had died, she had also taken over the visits to Aunt Walburga, whose younger son Regulus had disappeared and was presumed dead, and the elder one, Sirius, in Azkaban. How lonely Narcissa Black must have been, her family either in Azkaban or dead - or, at least, as good as dead. He shook his head to clear the gloomy thoughts. "She visited Aunt Walburga quite often when I was young. Sometimes she would take me along, but I never liked it here." He looked around the room and shivered. "It looks better than it used to, in any case."

Luna Potter smiled and sat down next to him. "I know it is not quite homely. Still, Harry and I prefer it over that ghastly Manor. I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, I know it was your home, but all those portraits constantly sneering and insulting… At least here there is only old Walburga Black, and we can keep her happy with an old blanket to cover her sight and a muffliato to prevent her from hearing us."

Draco sipped his Firewhiskey reflectively. He had vague recollections of a massive woman with a heavy-lidded stare and lustrous black hair streaked with grey.

"I think she used to pinch my cheeks. Always a little too hard, to see if I would cry."

"And did you?" Mrs. Potter looked at him sharply.

"Only once," Draco admitted, but he chose not to elaborate.

At that moment, Harry Potter entered the room.

"I hear you had a run-in with Robards today," he said, without proper greeting.

Draco raised his glass in acknowledgement and said, his countenance perfectly serious, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter. Mr. Robards and I had a perfectly amiable meeting with the Minister."

"Perfectly amiable?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "He was still ranting about it when I left, Malfoy. You had better make sure you toe the line, he will have it out for you."

Draco would have shrugged and had a disparaging remark on the tip of his tongue, but just then a grumpy house-elf announced dinner was ready and should the Master and his Loony please take place at the table so it could be served. Draco was shocked at those rude words, but the Potters seemed unperturbed. Luna Potter took his arm and guided him to the next room, where the food was waiting.

Draco entertained his hosts through dinner recounting his meeting with Shacklebolt and Robards.

"So then I suggested I might want to sign up for Auror training," Draco said, his face straight but his eyes alight with amusement. Harry roared with laughter. He almost choked on his food and Draco could just hear his mother's disapproving sniff at such atrocious table manners. He realised that he did not mind so much, though.

"Oh… Oh that's brilliant. I wish I had seen his face!"

"Unfortunately I did not see it either, as he was sitting behind me. But maybe we can ask the Minister if he wants to show us the memory in a Pensieve? I can only imagine it was priceless, as Shacklebolt himself could barely keep his countenance."

"So, does that mean you are joining the Aurors?"

"Dear Merlin, absolutely not! I am applying for a Potions Mastery after New Year, and I may set up my own apothecary. The Minister said he would ensure the application gets fair consideration."

"I think perhaps you should fill in an application for Auror training, just for a laugh, and come in to ask for help to complete it."

"Such insubordination, Potter. How surprising."

They laughed again, and Draco noticed they had come to dessert, treacle tart, one of his favourites, and, judging by the look on his face, one of Potter's favourites as well. Strange to think they had something so mundane in common.

"I ran into Mrs. Zabini when I was on my way out," Draco said, wondering if he could ask about Hermione in some way without betraying his real interests. But then, these were not Slytherins.

"Oh, how is she? How is Mr. Zabini doing after his accident?" Mrs. Potter asked.

"She seemed fine. Blaise is home again, and fairly well. Not quite the same, he cannot stand sudden loud noises, but all in all it seems he has recovered. Did Her… Miss Granger not send you the news?" He carefully looked at his plate, and not at the Potters.

"Oh, Hermione left soon after we did. She has been with her Muggle family these past weeks, and she has not had much contact with the Wizarding world. They get nervous, you see, so she tries to limit the owls and use of magic around them," Luna said candidly. "I am relieved to hear Mr. Zabini is doing so well, then. Flora did mention something about them coming home soon in her last letter, but it has been a while since we have written. She has gotten engaged, you see, so she mostly regales me with details of the preparations for her wedding to Tobias Macmillan."

"Oh, Mrs. Zabini did not tell me that. Then again, I did not ask after Miss Zabini. It is great news for both of them." Draco could not explain to himself later why he did not tell the Potters about Blaise's impending nuptials to Astoria at that moment, but he had a feeling that Hermione had no knowledge of it as yet, and he was reluctant to be the bearer of bad news, even if the news reached her via the Potters. Yet he could not be fully happy about that engagement until he knew her feelings on the matter.

He realised he had lost track of the conversation, then, and tried to catch up.

"So we could invite her over, Harry. It will be better than staying at the Burrow, you know what Ron… And I would like to have Hermione here for Yule. You know she cannot spend it with her family and she should not be alone."

"I would love for her to be here. I have not celebrated one Christmas without her in the past ten years or so. I shall send an owl tomorrow." Harry smiled at his wife, then turned back to Draco. "What are your plans for the holidays?"

"As you know, I have my mother over. And Mrs. Zabini said she is inviting us all for a dinner some time next week, I think."

"Are you coming to the Yule Ball at the Ministry?"

"I have not received an invitation for it," Draco said, a little stiffly. He hated being reminded that he was, for most purposes, still an outcast.

"I can remind Kingsley to send you an invitation, you really should come. It is on the day before Yule, the ladies call it the biggest social event of the season." The tone in which Harry Potter said this made it clear he was not of the same opinion, but all the same, he seemed to be looking forward to the festivities with an excited anticipation that Draco envied. But he pushed those thoughts away. If Hermione Granger accepted the invitation of the Potters, she would surely attend the Yule Ball herself. Then he could see how she fared after Blaise's engagement to Miss Greengrass.

"My mother would appreciate an invitation, I'm sure. She will see it as yet more evidence that the Malfoys are back in Society, and who am I to deny my mother such happiness." The droll tone in which he said it indicated beyond doubt that he could care less about his mother's desire to reinstate the Malfoy name. He counted the days until he could ship her off to France again. But it was a good enough excuse to go to an event that Miss Granger would surely attend.

* * *

 **AN: Who's excited about seeing Hermione again? Because I am! Special thanks to my wonderful Beta hobbit penguin! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
**


	18. Preparing for Yule

**18\. Preparing for Yule**

The week before Yule was Draco's least favourite time to go to Diagon Alley, but for Narcissa Malfoy it was the place to see and to be seen. She had persuaded him to accompany her and Miss Parkinson to go shopping. The Alley was, of course, packed. They had spent some time in the Magical Menagerie, because Miss Parkinson was thinking about getting a Kneazle, they had bought a supply of beauty potions at Madame Primpernelle's, and had tea at a little tearoom across from Fortescue's ice parlour. They had just come out of the Apothecary, where Draco had bought a supply of ingredients, when the heavens opened and it began to rain heavily. Narcissa and Pansy fled to Madame Malkin's, Twillfitt and Tattings not being within their means any more. Draco tried to excuse himself.

"Please, Mother, you can do this without me. I just wanted to go into Flourish and Blotts, to check their Potions section. You and Miss Parkinson can take your time here and just come and find me when you have finished."

"But, Draco, darling, surely you need new robes for the Ministry Yule Ball!" Narcissa's enthusiasm had known no bounds when the Ministry owl had arrived and dropped a gilded invitation in her lap. She had accepted it instantly in Draco's name before he had even had a chance to see it.

"I assure you my formal robes are adequate, Mother, but if you need something for the occasion, Miss Parkinson surely will be delighted to assist you in your choices." He quickly kissed her cheek and fled across the slippery cobblestones to the bookshop, which was even busier than usual. He quickly climbed the stairs, away from the more popular sections such as Romance, Cookery and Divination. There were less people milling around on the second floor, which held a specialised Potions section and books on Runes and Arithmancy. He found a volume that interested him and was absorbed in leafing through it when someone bumped into him. He was startled, the book slipped out of his hands and thudded onto the floor, along with the reticule belonging to the other person. Draco could not be certain which of the two items made the loudest sound when it hit the ground. He turned towards the witch with an irritated scowl.

"I would appreciate, Madam, if you could watch…" His voice trailed off when he recognised her and her name slipped from his lips unbidden. "Hermione! I mean, Miss Granger. I mean… My apologies, let me help…" He stooped down to recover the reticule as well as his book. Hermione, who had looked quite put out when he had first started speaking, stepped back. She looked at him uncertainly, as if she was unsure what to expect of him.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am so sorry I walked into you. I hope the book has no damage?"

Draco handed her the reticule, a dainty, peacock blue bag that matched her pelisse and was much heavier than it looked, and turned the book around in his hands, examining it from all angles. They both saw the tear in the spine at the same time.

"Oh Godric…" Hermione flushed, mortified. She looked around furtively, saw no clerks around them, slipped her wand from her sleeve and muttered, " _Reparo_ ". The tear mended only partly, and she bit her lip in obvious frustration.

"That is my fault, I really am sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I shall pay for it, of course."

"Miss Granger, that is hardly necessary," he objected, uncertain whether he was more peeved that she thought that he needed rescuing from the wrath of Mr. Flourish, the bookstore owner, or that he might not be able to afford the blasted book himself.

"I insist. Let me, please." Hermione put a hand on his arm and Draco quite forgot what he was about to say. The touch burned through the silk of her glove and the wool of his cloak. Their eyes met and for a long moment, they just stared at each other. He had not seen her this close since… But no, he would not let his mind travel back to that fateful afternoon at the Black Lake. She had changed and yet she was still the same. Those same freckles on her nose, those same beautiful brown eyes with golden flecks, but they were older now. They had seen the horrors of war and survived. He almost reached out to tuck an obstinate curl behind her ear, but a loud argument in the aisle next to theirs brought his wits back, and he smiled tentatively at her. He did not dare move lest she remove her hand.

"How have you been? I haven't seen you since…" His voice trailed off. He wanted to avoid bringing up memories of that a horrible accident. He saw the memory flit over her countenance, a momentary look of horror and sadness, but then it was gone.

"I've been with my family. My Muggle family. I always try to see them at least once a year. It is difficult, of course, they do not understand my life and I have no place in theirs. I feel like a stranger among them more and more each year." Hermione swallowed, and Draco saw the hurt in her eyes. It was not the first time he had thought about the difficulty Muggleborns had if they kept in touch with their birth family after being adopted into the magical world. He had no particular dislike of Muggles but he did firmly believe in the Statute of Secrecy, even if his forefathers had not. It could not be easy to visit the people you loved and have them look at you as if you were a stranger.

"I hope your time with your family brought you some peace, nonetheless," he said, kindly.

Hermione laughed, but it was hollow and cold. Draco wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but this woman was not the girl he had known in school. He had no right to, and he doubted he would be accepted if he did try. He settled for placing his own hand on top of hers, their gloved touch bringing back memories that he tried to forget.

She seemed to shake off her unhappy thoughts and smiled at him, taking a step back and releasing the spell they had seemingly been under. Her hand slipped off his arm and he missed her touch immediately, though he managed to hide any physical reaction. He realised then that, for the first time since they had become reacquainted, the smile reached her eyes.

"And how have you been? I heard that the Ministry returned some of your property?"

Draco nodded, running a hand over his arm awkwardly. He did not like to discuss that matter in public, no matter how often it had appeared in the Daily Prophet.

"The Wizengamot has seen fit to return my great-grandparents' house into my possession. My mother inherited it and the marriage contract stipulated it as part of the dowry, so technically it could be argued it was not originally in my Father's possession and should therefore not fall under his sentencing."

"I was sorry they took away your home. Harry said… I mean… it was just unfair and…" Her fingers played with the fur edges on her pelisse and she bit her lip as her words trailed off. Draco noticed and remembered it was something she did when she became nervous. Why was _she_ nervous?

"The Manor?" he asked, a little taken aback. She nodded in confirmation. "That no longer bothers me, Miss Granger. I never want to set foot in that horrid place again, the Ministry is welcome to it. Do not tell me you actually liked staying there?"

Hermione grimaced and shifted uneasily. "It was not always comfortable, but I liked… I mean, the gardens… it must have been nice to grow up there, before…" Her voice trailed off again and Draco had to look away from those brown eyes that had captured his gaze.

"It may not have always been bad but it was far from idyllic, Hermione," he said quietly, staring intently at the shining tips of his dragonhide boots. "It was a place of hate and pain, of isolation and imprisonment. I am glad I no longer have to be there, glad, even, that I _can_ never go back. It is a freedom I never had before."

"I… I am sorry. I did not mean…"

He looked back at her. "I know. Like I said, it no longer bothers me. And I can only be relieved yhat not every aspect of your stay in that house was terrible."

They smiled at each other in understanding, and then they both looked away, very aware of the intimacy of their situation. Draco desperately tried to think of something to say, but before he could continue the conversation, he heard his name being called.

"Draco? Are you up here? Lady Narcissa is ready to go home." Pansy walked into the aisle, her gaze flicking over Miss Granger dismissively. She walked up to Draco, placing her hand on his arm and nudging him back towards the stairs.

"Come now, you know how impatient your Mother gets," she said, still ignoring Hermione.

Draco pulled his arm free and placed the book on a shelf with deliberate care.

"Miss Parkinson, I'm sure you remember Miss Hermione Granger from school?"

Pansy blinked, surprised. Her eyes flicked to Hermione with a little more interest now. They took in the peacock blue pelisse with white furs, the wild curls that had sprung loose from their updo and had fought their way to freedom from underneath a dainty bonnet. Her lips turned into a disdainful smile. Hermione seemed to temporarily shrink away but then straightened her back and stared at Pansy Parkinson with some attention.

"Miss Granger. Of course." She made a slight bow towards the other woman and placed her hand back on Draco's arm. "But Draco, we really should go now."

"Miss Parkinson." Hermione's eyes kept returning to Pansy's hand on Draco's arm, and then she took a step back, studying the two former Slytherins with a guarded look.

"You had better go, Mr. Malfoy, if your mother is waiting. You should not try her patience on my account," she said, polite disinterest in her voice. Pansy smirked at her and dragged Draco along, barely giving him a chance to say goodbye.

Only then Hermione noticed that Draco forgot to buy the book, after all. She hesitated, but decided to get it anyway, since she had caused damage to it. As she made her way to the counter downstairs and waited impatiently in the long queue, she overheard the conversation of the two witches before her.

"Looks like that Parkinson girl has her claws in the Malfoy boy good and proper."

"Oh yes, they have been seen together at almost every dinner and dance in the past few weeks. Narcissa Malfoy encourages it, of course."

"The Malfoys are not quite what they once were, of course, but still a good catch. The Parkinsons lost almost everything in the War, the little Miss only managed to escape because she spent most of that time on the Continent. And though young Mr. Malfoy is not quite the leader of society like his parents once were, he will certainly make a name for himself in no time. Those Malfoys always do, you know."

"It will be the society wedding of the year, those two. I hear it will not be long now before they make it official."

Hermione Granger was overcome by a sudden nausea. She left the shop soon afterwards and returned home, keeping herself to her room for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

The next day, Narcissa again persuaded Draco to accompany her to Diagon Alley, to fetch the robes she'd ordered at Madam Malkin's.

"Come now, Draco, hurry up. We need to get to Madam Malkin's before noon, we are meeting the Montagues later at the Silver Dragon. We cannot be late!" Narcissa propelled them through the throng of shoppers in the busy street, making him bump into people left and right. Draco really, really hated the pre-Yule shopping madness.

He stood sulking next to the doorway of Madam Malkin's', waiting for Narcissa to finish her purchases. His eyes wandered over the heads of the many witches and wizards that had also chosen that day to visit the shops, idly wondering why his mother always insisted on his tagging along to her many social events. More often than not, he embarrassed her by being unresponsive, and sometimes even rude, to the people in whose good graces she was trying to ascend. He froze, his eyes catching sight of Miss Granger and Mrs. Potter walking his way.

"Come, Draco, the Montagues are waiting," said his mother, nudging him to move in the direction of the Silver Dragon, an expensive and exclusive coffee house on Diagon Alley. It just so happened to be the direction the ladies he had just noticed were coming from. They were going to cross paths. Draco wondered how his mother would react to seeing them, and his eyes darted between the two women ahead and his mother's face. They then saw him, and waved hello. Draco smiled and tipped his hat at them, and just then glanced back at his Mother, whose face had gone rigid. She placed a firm grip on his arm and steered him towards the nearest shop window, out of the way of the two approaching women.

"Draco, darling, is there nothing I can get you for Yule? Maybe you would like…" she faltered, then regained her confidence. "Yes, maybe you would like something from this joke shop? You should laugh a bit more, dearest, something like Canary Creams or a Vanishing Quill? Would that not amuse you?"

Draco shook his head in bitter dejection, and pulled free from her grip.

"Mother, what are you blathering on about? I am not twelve any more. And would you really buy something from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?" He arched an eyebrow in challenge, and she looked back at him with a serene smile.

"I have no idea what you want to imply, darling, this seems like a perfectly respectable shop. But anyway, we really should hurry now, the Montagues are waiting."

As they once more continued on their way, Draco realised Miss Granger and Mrs. Potter had passed them, and his mother had successfully pretended not to see them. In fact, his mother had steered him away from them, so she wouldn't have to acknowledge them at all. He was disappointed in her weakness and misplaced pride, but even more so that she had succeeded in preventing him from talking to them.

He found comfort in the thought that he would surely see Hermione Granger and Luna Potter at the Ministry ball, and they would be able to talk there, without the disapproving glare of his mother burning holes in his robes. Even _she_ would not be so callous as to express so blatant a dislike during an event in honour of those she disparaged.

* * *

That evening, Draco went to visit Greg Goyle again.

"I did not expect to see you tonight. Should you not have an early night so you can rest before tomorrow's grand ball at the Ministry?"

Draco laughed at his friend and handed him another box of Cauldron cakes, as he always did on his almost daily visits.

"I'm not that old yet, Greg. I'm sure I can stand yet another evening of socialising with dull idiots and smiling insincerely at the people surrounding me without additional sleep. I have become quite good at suffering with endless patience, lately." He made such a dramatic face that Greg began to laugh, something he had to suppress immediately as his muscles could not stand the strain. He looked at Draco with a sly smile.

"Surely not all of them are dull idiots, Draco. I heard there would be some people present you might be very interested in…"

Draco could not suppress the colour rising in his cheeks as he thought of Hermione Granger. He cursed his pale skin and wished he had outlived the age of blushing, then idly wondered how Greg could know about her.

Greg's sly smile became a little wider and he leaned back in his pillows with a sigh. "Ah, young love," he mused, still in a teasing tone. "But I will say nothing more. Gossip spreads like Fiendfyre in this hospital, I am sure I shall know all about your evening before you even wake up."

"In that case, I had better come by, so I can tell you myself what is true and what is fiction," Draco said, a little put out.

Greg only shook his head, a melancholy look in his face as he looked at the only friend who had bothered to see him in the hospital. "You will surely have better things to do, Draco, but by all means, if you do have the time, come by. I shall be here."

Draco frowned, confused, but decided not to ask more details. Maybe Greg was still suffering from the after-effects of the potions he had to take? That could explain why he was spouting such nonsense. But at least he looked less fragile and weak than before. He decided to comment on his friend's improved countenance, as much to change the subject as out of interest.

"I do feel a lot better," Greg admitted, but he did not look quite as happy as Draco had expected him to. "The healers say I can go home at the end of December." Then he scoffed bitterly. "Not that I have a home to go back to."

Draco only hesitated a fraction of a second.

"You can stay at my house, Greg, until you can find your feet. There are enough rooms, I can prepare the whole second floor for you, if you like, so you have a whole suite of rooms to yourself. My mother will be going back to France soon, so the house will be very quiet. I have a house-elf who can help you with anything for which you may still need assistance. Really, you would be most welcome."

Greg Goyle, however, did not react quite as Draco had expected him to. He stared at Draco for the longest time, his dark blue eyes calculating and a frown on his forehead. Eventually, he spoke. "That… That is very generous of you, Draco. I shall think about it. Does… Does Miss Parkinson know you have been visiting me?"

Draco was thrown off by the non-sequitur, but he replied anyway. "I have no idea. I cannot remember if I ever mentioned it to her, maybe my mother has. Why is that important? Would you like me to tell her you are here? She might want to come and visit you herself."

Greg sent him an uneasy smile and shrugged, then wincing as his shoulder was still healing.

"No, that is not necessary." The look in his eyes however, suggested that the answer to that question should be self-evident. Draco could not understand it.

He let the subject drop, however, and continued to talk about Narcissa's shopping, her strange desire to buy him something from the Weasleys' joke shop, and the tedious lunch he'd had to sit through with the Montagues.

"I really cannot wait until she is back in France," he sighed, with an air of long suffering.

"Are you sure she is planning to go back? It seems like she is insinuating her way back into high society this side of the Channel, instead of on the Continent."

Draco wanted to deny it, but then realised he could, in all truth and honesty, not do so. It was true, his mother had been trying to weasel her way back into the British Pureblood circles. He pressed his lips together in annoyance. He should have seen it himself, but it was as if he only now could see the reasoning behind her insistence on going out in society and associating with the right circles.

"She will go back. I will make sure of it, one way or another. If need be, I shall give her some Dreamless Sleep Potion and Portkey her out while she's asleep." He nodded decisively and crossed his arms. Greg raised an eyebrow. "Drastic measures," he observed.

"I do love my Mother, but it is just easier if I do not have to see her every day. She will move out after Yule, I will see to that. She is better off in Paris than here."

The visitor hour was almost over, so Draco soon took his leave and went back home, creating and dismissing several plans to convince Narcissa to return to France after the holiday. He was not sure he would actually dare to potion her, but he could not stand the idea of her moving into his house permanently. She would go back. He had no intention of losing _this_ battle.

* * *

 **AN - Thanks so much for all the reviews! The Ministry Ball next... oh my scone, such excitement, it leaves my heart aflutter!**

 **Special thanks to my darling beta hobbit penguin. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**


	19. The Yule Ball

**19\. The Yule Ball**

Draco entered the Ministry Atrium via the Floo and waited for his mother to arrive after him. They walked up to the receiving line arm in arm, pretending not to notice the hush that had fallen over the attendees or the glares that came in their direction. Minister Shacklebolt, either unaware of the sudden hostile atmosphere, or determined to ignore it, welcomed Draco very warmly.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I am so pleased you could make it, I know the invitation came late."

Draco smiled graciously. "I was delighted to make time in my busy schedule, Sir. Thank you very much for inviting me." His mother pinched his arm for his sarcastic comment but he had expected that and managed not to flinch.

"It is a pleasure, indeed it is. I believe you know my Undersecretary, Mr. Weasley?" The Minister's eyes shone with amusement as he made the introduction. He knew very well that the centuries-old rivalry between the Malfoys and the Weasleys was legendary. The avid onlookers seemed to hold a collective breath but if they expected a dramatic reaction, they were sadly disappointed. Draco only smiled and held out his hand. "Of course, Mr. Weasley, how do you do."

There was no reason to make grandiloquent statements, there was no call for insincere apologies. Centuries of family rivalry could never be resolved by a single handshake. But a line could be drawn, the slate Scourgified. They could start again and leave the past behind. He offered his hand as a chance to bury the hatchet between their families, and Mr. Weasley, though hesitating, recognised the gesture for what it was and accepted it most graciously.

"Mr. Malfoy, welcome to the Ministry Yule Ball. I hope you have a wonderful evening."

Draco made a bow in gratitude and thanked both men for their kind welcome.

Narcissa Malfoy knew that the Minister and his Undersecretary were willfully ignoring her, but she ignored the blatant insult with a grace and dignity that Draco could almost admire in his mother. The smile on her face was radiant and engaging. She looked at her son adoringly while they were greeting the highest officials in the Ministry and made no effort to insert herself in the conversation.

When the formalities of the receiving line were finally over, they wandered around. Narcissa soon engaged in conversation with an old acquaintance. Draco, already bored, looked around. Most people avoided him, some stared with undisguised hatred, others, which was almost worse, with pity.

He was approached by Harry Potter, who had Miss Granger on his arm. Ronald Weasley trailed after them, unable to disguise his displeasure at his friends' effort to seek him out.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am so glad you could make it. Are you here alone?" Harry Potter greeted him with a formal bow, which he instantly returned.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."

Hermione blushed when he addressed her, and made a small curtsey. Then she stared at the floor in apparent embarrassment and confusion. Ronald Weasley only glared at him.

"I brought my mother." He placed a hand on her arm to attract her attention, and Narcissa turned around, her radiant smile faltering when her eyes fell on Harry Potter and his friends. She curtsied stiffly, then turned back to her conversation partner, an elderly wizard in traditional black formal robes. Draco vaguely thought he had seen him before, and sent a rueful smile at his mother's back, relieved, at least, she had acknowledged them. It would not do, after all, for her to snub the Heroes of the Wizarding World in public.

"You had to bring your mother to this ball? Could you not get a proper partner, Malfoy?" sneered Ron Weasley, his blue eyes glaring daggers at Draco. Draco he eyed the youngest Weasley brother speculatively. He could sense that people around him were paying attention to their exchange, and he knew he had to maintain his composure, or his reputation would never recover. So he fixed the polite society smile he had perfected over the years on his face, and replied quietly, "As a matter of fact, Mr. Weasley, my mother insisted on attending this wonderful event in order to see some of her old friends before she returns to the Continent. I could hardly refuse to accompany her. If it had not been for her, I may not have come at all. After all, the people I want to talk to here, I can talk to any time I want. By the by, Harry," said Draco, turning his attention back to Potter and purposefully using his first name to rile up Ronald Weasley, "are you attending Mrs. Zabini's Yule dinner?"  
Harry nodded, and they talked about the Zabini's invitation and the party it was promising to become until Luna Potter appeared at Harry's other side.

"Mr. Malfoy, how lovely to see you again," she said in her dreamy voice, putting her arm through Harry's and smiling up at Draco.

"And you look ravishing, as always, Mrs. Potter," Draco replied, winking and kissing her hand with a flourish. Harry only chuckled, and Ron, who had been muttering about Death Eater filth and criminals under his breath throughout the conversation between Harry and Draco, scoffed, and walked away.

"Harry, my father is here, will you come over and say hello?" asked Luna, and Harry, always obliging, let go of Hermione's arm and let his wife take him away.

It took only a moment before Draco realised that he and Hermione had been left alone, whether by design or coincidence he could not tell. Luna Potter, for all her strange imaginings, had the uncanny ability to see what others ignored. He hesitated only a moment before he offered her his arm, which she accepted, and they began to walk around the room, away from his mother. He looked at her closely, studying the beautiful cut of her silver-grey dress, the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. The colour on her cheeks was slowly fading again, but her fingers played nervously with the edges of the fine, silver shawl that was draped around her shoulders. It almost seemed to be spun from starlight. He could feel she was uncomfortable from the tight grip she had on his arm and desperately cast around to say something, anything, to make her feel more at ease.

"So."

"Well…"

They both started and stopped speaking at the same time, looked at each other, and then Draco bowed slightly towards Hermione and gestured for her to continue. The colour on her cheeks returned and she quickly looked away again. Then she coughed, trying to regain her composure with indifferent success, and, still not quite looking at him, she said, "If you received Mrs. Zabini's invitation, I take it you have heard about the engagement?"

"You mean Blaise and Miss Greengrass? Yes, la Signora was kind enough to tell me about it a week or so ago, when I ran into her here at the Ministry. It was a most surprising development, but I hope they will be happy together." He studied her face, trying to read her expression as her eyes clouded over for just a second. Her smile seemed just a little more strained than it had been before.

"Yes. I have to admit that when we were first at the Lakes, I never would have guessed that Mr. Zabini and Miss Greengrass should end up engaged. Miss Greengrass seemed so… different from Mr. Zabini. But… Well, they must have found a common ground, I daresay. He would not have proposed marriage if he did not love her. And I truly do hope they will be happy together. They deserve to be happy, both of them. And maybe that means there will be another opportunity to go to the Lakes? I believe they were talking about holding the wedding breakfast at the Notts' house."

Draco was unable to figure out from her words how she really felt about the engagement. Had she loved Zabini? But her mention of the Notts surprised him, and placed a hand over hers. "Are you sure you want to go back there?"

Hermione pursed her lips and thrust out her chin defiantly. "Of course. It is such a lovely area, and I really would like to spend a long holiday up there. Such beautiful views, such openness… It is nature at its best! I cannot wait to see what it would look like in Spring, or at the beginning of Autumn when the leaves just change colour. It must be stunning."

Draco smiled at her passionate speech. "It must be. I just thought, with that horrible accident that happened, the bad memories… I had not thought you would want to go back and be reminded of it."

Hermione smiled at him in understanding. "I see what you mean, but, you know, not all the memories I have of that trip are bad. Some were very good." She glanced up at his face, her eyes warm and full of amusement. Then she blushed and looked down again. "Besides, if I avoided all the places I have bad memories of, I should never set foot in the Ministry. I would never go back to Hogwarts. I would not…" She faltered, bringing one gloved hand to her brow and closing her eyes for a moment. "Memories are, by definition, things that happened in the past. They cannot hurt me, not really. So I am not afraid to go back to a place that holds bad memories. And, all in all, looking back, it was not so bad, was it? Nobody died, thanks to your quick interventions, and Blaise even has a happy future to look forward to." If her tone was slightly bitter, neither of them acknowledged it. Draco was about to say something when Ronald Weasley popped up at her side again.

"Hermione, it is time for the speeches and the dinner. We need to take our places," he said, ignoring Draco completely and grabbing her hand. He tried to tug her along but she drew her hand back.

"Thank you, Ronald, I will join you and Harry at the main table in a moment." Her voice was snippy. She turned back to Draco and was about to address him whenWeasley grabbed her arm and turned her around.

"Stop wasting time, Hermione, we really need to go," Ron repeated, and Draco had a suspicion his hold on Hermione's arm was just a little too tight. He wanted to step in and free her arm, anger coiling in his stomach, but then she spoke up herself, her voice colder and sharper than he had ever heard before.

"Mr. Weasley, I shall join you in a moment. Stop manhandling me. Go. Now." She wrenched her arm free, rubbing it subconsciously where he had grabbed her, and Draco had to clench his fists to stop from reaching out. His eyes flicked from her arm to her face and he saw the slight shake of her head in response to the question that must have been written all over his face. She turned her back to Weasley and slowly, almost as if reluctantly, let go of his arm.

"I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but duty calls. Maybe we can finish our conversation later tonight?" There was an uncertainty in her voice, a plea in her eyes, that could not leave his heart untouched. Draco smiled at her, though it was a little strained, and bowed.

"It was a pleasure to talk to you, Miss Granger, and I also hope I will have another chance to speak to you later tonight."

"I should like that very much." She smiled at him, turned around and walked towards Weasley, who had been waiting for her just a couple of steps away. He tried to grab her arm again and tuck it into his, but she stepped away from him, and Draco thought he could just make out the words "We are not here together, Ronald, stop acting like such a cad," before they were too far for him to hear anything more.

* * *

He made his way back to his mother, who seemed to be holding a court of her own, and stood by her side, not listening to any of the conversations that went on around him. He paid no attention to the speeches, but his eyes were glued on Hermione. It had almost felt like old times, the two of them talking together, the way she had smiled at him, her eyes shining with mirth, her lips quirking in that special smile she only reserved for her closest friends…

He knew he still loved her, had never stopped loving her, no matter how much it had hurt to see her with Blaise. He could not blame her for moving on and choosing someone else. But he knew that, for him, there would never be anyone else. She had not seemed heartbroken about Blaise's engagement to another woman, though she could be hiding it. She had seemed genuinely happy to see him, but she had also been flustered in his presence. How did she really feel about him now? How could he ever know? He looked up at the main table again, and noticed her laughing with Ronald Weasley, as if nothing was amiss. Earlier she had seemed irritated with the Weasel, but now they looked like they were the best of friends. As the thoughts kept milling around in his head, he barely noticed that they had been seated for dinner, and he was halfway through his dessert by the time he realised Pansy Parkinson was sitting to his right. A sharp jab in the ribs, however, caught his attention.

"You will snap that fork if you clench it any harder."

"What?" Draco glanced at his right, almost surprised to find Miss Parkinson there, pouting at him.

"You will snap that fork if you clench it any harder, Draco. What is wrong with you? You are so distracted, you have barely said five words to me since I said hello. And what are you staring at? Seriously, you need to make more of an effort when you are in public, you know," she snapped.

Draco looked at the fork and then back up at the table on the platform, where Ron had placed a hand on Hermione's arm and was still whispering in her ear as she was leaning towards him. There was something in the stiffness of her shoulders that told him she was uncomfortable, and he wondered why.

"You know very well I dislike these socials, Miss Parkinson. I am only here because Mother wanted to attend," he replied absently.

Pansy patted him on the arm comfortingly, then sent him a coy smile that missed its mark completely, as his attention was still fixed on Miss Granger.

"I hope you have some pleasant moments tonight, then, to make up for it," Pansy whispered in his ear, and he replied, without thinking, that he was quite certain there would indeed be some pleasant moments to make the evening better.

To his surprise, Pansy drew him in a hug. He was mortified and tried to subtly lean away, but when she tightened her arms around him, he muttered a curse and let her. Untangling himself forcibly surely would make more of a scene, which was exactly what she was counting on. When she released him, Draco could not stop his eyes from darting over to the main table, where Hermione was staring at him with an inscrutable expression, the colour drained from her face. He sent her a questioning look, wondering what was wrong, but she looked away quickly, and then his view was obscured by everyone standing up from their seats and making their way back into the Atrium, which had been turned into a ballroom.

Pansy hooked her arm into his and lead him into the first dance. He frowned at her, but obliged her with a dance, while his eyes darted around the room, looking for Hermione. He really wanted to talk to her again, and he planned to hand Pansy over to another dance partner as soon as this dance was over. He finally noticed her talking to Luna Potter near the far end of the dance floor, and as the music fizzled out, he made a quick bow towards Pansy and left her gaping after him while he made his way towards Luna and Hermione.

"Hello Mr. Malfoy! You truly are a wonderful dancer," Luna greeted him. "I hope you will allow me one dance tonight, for Harry does not know his widdershins from his deasil turns, and I so dearly love to dance."

Draco made a solemn promise to dance with Mrs. Potter and was engaged in conversation with her about the benefits of using wand wood from trees inhabited by Nargles, but his attention was focused on Miss Granger, whose behaviour now reminded him quite painfully of the Miss Granger he had first met at Zabini Manor. Her face was drawn and she ignored him completely. He was puzzled. The Hermione he knew would never have such a complete change of behaviour in a matter of a few hours. Something must have happened. But before he had any chance to find out, she addressed Luna in a low voice.

"I really should be going now, Luna, I have no desire to stay any longer. You know I do not care for these displays," she said with a dismissive gesture at the opulent ballroom and the couples dancing an elegant Cotillion.

Luna patted her arm. "If that is how you feel, my dear, go on home. Harry and I will see you there."

Hermione smiled at her, glanced back at Draco and then turned away, heading for the Floo without even saying goodbye.

"Miss Granger, wait." Draco paused, the feel of her name on his tongue foreign yet so familiar. She did not turn around but stopped, her head slightly turned towards him. He made a quick bow towards Luna, who smiled and disappeared in the crowd. "Why are you leaving so soon? Did we not have a conversation to continue?" He stepped up to her and offered his arm.

She looked at him, indecision written all over her face. Her hand trembled as if, just for a moment, she had wanted to reach out and take his arm, but then had instantly changed her mind. "I… I just want to go home. This whole evening, it was a mistake, I should not have come. I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I should leave." She took another step, but his hand on her arm stopped her and she turned around now, avoiding his eyes.

"But… please… Is not this dance worth staying for?" His voice was soft and pleading, and the sweet tones of a waltz filled the silence between them.  
She took a deep breath, looked up, and her face was open, hopeful. Then her eyes flicked at something behind him, and she closed up again, freeing her arm and taking a step away from him.

"No," she said, her voice strangled. "There is nothing worth my staying for."

There was a look of regret in her eyes when she turned away again. He stared at her retreating form and wondered if he should go after her, when someone took his arm and pressed up against his side.

"You ran off so quickly, Draco, is anything the matter?" Pansy's voice was soft in his ear, and he could feel her breath on his cheek. He blushed, mortified, and took a step away from her.

"Miss Parkinson, I would appreciate it if you could cease this improper behaviour at once," he said, icily. Then he continued, his voice softened by the hurt look in her eyes, "Please, you are embarrassing yourself."

She squared her shoulders and looked up at him, her eyes flaring angrily. "I do not understand your meaning, Sir. Pray, what is it you are referring to?"

The challenge in her tone set off his anger again, and before he could contain it, all his frustrations about her conduct of the previous weeks came bubbling to the surface. "Your behaviour is appalling. The way you are touching me, hanging all over me, clinging to me... It is a discredit to your upbringing, it is most irritating and it has to stop," Draco hissed angrily. Then he blinked, not sure where those words came from, but the truth of it hit him like a bludger.

"But, Draco, everyone already knows we are about to join our families. And what an alliance it will be, the last of the Sacred Twenty-Eight together… We shall start a new dynasty, leading society, it would be.." Her voice, plaintive in the beginning, became more and more enthused by the visions she described.

He shook his head in disbelief and cut in before she could say any more. "No. I will not marry you, Miss Parkinson. There will be no alliance. I never said there would be, and I never gave you any indication I wanted it. I treated you as nothing but an old friend, and that is all you are. That is all I can give you. We are not… Never, Pansy. It is not going to happen. Now, if you will excuse me."

He could see she was enraged, and for a moment he feared she would make a scene, but she just glared at him and stalked away, her nose in the air. He turned around again, hoping Hermione had not yet gone, and spotted her talking to Weasley near the Floo. He wanted to walk up to them but froze.

They were kissing.

It felt like time had come to a halt, the moment stretching on forever, and a million knives stabbing and turning in his heart.

Until Hermione pushed Weasley away violently, slapping him in the face and then disappeared in a flurry of green flames.

And Draco could breathe again.

She did not want the Weasel. She had pushed him away, she did not welcome his advances. The Weasel, who had been so rough and angry at her, almost as if he was jealous of anyone who was lucky enough to receive Hermione's attention.

All of a sudden, Hermione's behaviour made sense. She had seen Pansy draped all over him all evening. She had seen them dance, and wanted to leave immediately afterwards. She had been _jealous_ , jealous of Pansy. He knew with sudden clarity that it was true, because it was exactly what he had felt when she spent so much time with Blaise Zabini, when she was talking so cordially with the Weasel, and even worse, kissing him… What if she felt the same about him and Pansy? What if that was why she left early, why she suddenly could not look at him? What if seeing Pansy approach him was what had made her back away?

Draco wanted to go after her right away, but then a sliver of doubt crept in. Just because she had refused the Weasel did not mean her heart belonged to him. He needed more certainty about her feelings before he made it clear to her that he was hers, still. He was shocked by his sudden realisation that she might still care for him, and, seeing her reaction, she had only just understood that herself. With both of them in an emotional state, following her could only turn into a disaster and he could not make the same mistakes he had made so many years ago. He decided to stay.

After all, he had promised a dance to Mrs. Potter.

But for the rest of the evening, his thoughts centered on Hermione.

* * *

 **AN: You should count yourselves lucky I have so much work to do that I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out, because I was very tempted to stop at the point where Draco saw Ron kiss Hermione... But since I'd prefer no death threats atm, I thought I'd better give you the rest of that scene after all.  
**

 **Special thanks to my beta hobbit penguin. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**


	20. Truth comes out

**20\. Truth comes out**

It was with great difficulty that Draco forced himself out of bed the next day. He had barely slept, the Yule ball evening milling around in his head constantly, reliving every look, every word, every interaction between himself and Hermione. His heart was filled with hope, a hope he had not dared to allow for so long, and it still took him by surprise. He would take care not to act too rashly, for fear of pushing her away again.

What did propel him out of bed and out of the house at an unusually early hour, was the thought of Pansy Parkinson visiting that morning. He knew her well enough to realise she would not yet give up on the idea of marrying him, and he really had no desire to repeat _that_ conversation, so he escaped before his mother even woke up, just leaving a note to say he was out for the day. It was Midwinter Day, so most people would be celebrating Yule with their closest family and friends. Draco knew there was only one place he could go to hide.

* * *

Greg was sitting in a chair, looking out of the window. He turned around when he heard footsteps and seemed startled at the sight of his friend in the doorway.

"Draco? I had not expected to see you today."

Draco's greeting smile faltered at Greg's obvious surprise. "What do you mean? I told you I would come by this morning. Where else would I be?"

Greg looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap, and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

"I… That is to say… I apologize. I am happy to see you, of course. Happy Yule and may the blessings of the returning light be upon you."

Draco studied Greg curiously, wondering about his strange behaviour, but he allowed the change in subject and returned the season's blessing warmly, then asked if he had made a decision about accepting his offer to move in. Greg still avoided Draco's eyes, and looked studiously outside again.

"Are you sure you want me there?"

"Of course, I would not have offered if I was not serious about it. "

Greg Goyle forced a smile and looked back at Draco, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had arrived.

"I do apologise, Draco, please pay me no heed. I am just a little despondent today. It is Yule, after all, and here I am, in the hospital, and nobody could care less. Except for you." He added the last bit hastily, noticing the glint of irritation in Draco's face. "Tell me about the ball last night. I have heard some of the gossip already, of course, but give me your account of the evening. Amuse me, get me out of this dejected state."

Draco grinned, the memory of that evening stirring the warmest feelings in his chest. He sat down across from Greg, and started talking. But the more he said, the more he realised there were certain things he did not want to share - the memories were too precious, the flame of hope in his heart too new. He faltered, not really remembering anything from the speeches except staring at Hermione and Weasley. So much seemed to have happened, yet there was only so little he could tell his friend. He stopped talking and stared out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes without realizing. A chuckle brought him back to the present.

"I have a feeling there is a lot you are not telling me," Greg teased, causing Draco's cheeks to tinge pink. "Maybe something to do with a certain witch?" Draco's cheeks flushed more. "A very special witch?" Draco felt hot and squirmed uncomfortably, looking away from Greg. _How could he know? How does anyone know about Hermione?_

He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely listened to Greg's ramblings, until some part of his brain registered him saying, "and I'm sure you and Miss Parkinson will be very happy together."

"Pansy? By the good grace of Merlin, what are you on about, Greg? Miss Parkinson has nothing to do with... It was not Pansy I…"

He stopped, chastising himself for giving away so much, and trying desperately to regain his composure. He took a deep breath, willed down the flush on his cheeks, then looked at Greg and said, in a detached voice, "I have no idea why you would think Miss Parkinson and I could be happy together. There is nothing going on between us and there never will be."

Greg looked at him, searching his face for the truth. "No," he said, after long consideration, "No, indeed, I do believe you are telling the truth. I just thought… It does not matter, I just presumed…"

"But why would you think we were betrothed?"

Greg smiled ruefully. "You clearly have no idea what the Pureblood gossip mill has been spreading around these last few weeks. You and Miss Parkinson were seen together at almost every social event of the season, and in the company of your mother. You know that practically screams betrothal. Lady Malfoy and Miss Parkinson were always out together, and they clearly have a very cordial relationship with each other. And you talked so much about her, too, whenever you visited here. You were so happy when she first came back, you spent so much time with her… By consequence, I had no reason to question the natural conclusion to such a relationship." Greg shrugged, reached for a Cauldron Cake and carefully unwrapped it.

Draco was astonished that his friend - that society - could be so wrong. But when he heard Greg's account of the past few weeks, he had to agree that to an innocent onlooker, it may indeed seem like an announcement could be expected soon. And it would explain Miss Granger's reaction even more. If Greg had heard such gossip, maybe she had as well. .

"I'm sure Mother and Miss Parkinson herself would like a marriage between us to take place," he admitted grudgingly, "but I have no such intentions. Of course I was happy to see her again, she was my friend in Hogwarts. I was happy to see you and Blaise again, too. I did spend a lot of time with her, she visited often, my mother liked having her around, and, to tell the truth, Greg, she was another familiar face, and one of the few that chose to be friendly. Who else did I have here in London? Blaise was still recovering at the Lakes. The Potters are not such close friends that I would have reason to see them very often. I suppose I only talked about her a lot because you knew her once, too. I am sorry that gave you the wrong impression. I shall never want to marry her. It is not her I want. Not her at all." He did not add that perhaps he talked about Pansy so much because he tried to avoid mentioning Hermione.

"Thank Morgana!" Greg exclaimed, then, embarrassed by his own reaction, he clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with mortification.

Draco laughed, more out of confusion than genuine amusement. "What a peculiar reaction, especially considering you had just been telling me how happy we would be together. You will not mind my asking, why the change?"

Greg looked down, his hands playing with the wrapper of the cauldron cake. He was silent for so long Draco thought he would never get an answer. Then Greg looked up again, his hand crunching the wrapper into a little ball, and nodded to himself.

"I do apologise for my reaction, Draco. You have been such a good friend. You need to know that I… During the War, Pansy and I had some very… unpleasant encounters. I should have told you this before, but I was not in the right frame of mind when you first visited, and later… Well, with all the gossip milling about, and the way you talked about her, so fondly, I did not have the heart to… She might have changed since then. I know I have changed, and I know how difficult it is to start over again with such a history. I would never want to be the one to take away her chance at happiness if she had changed. But even more than that, after all you had been through, I believed you deserved to be happy, and I just could not justify taking away that happiness by telling you what happened all those years ago."

Draco was no longer smiling. His face had turned as serious as Greg's and he dreaded what the other man was about to say.

"You are not making sense, Greg. Tell me everything, start from the beginning."

"Could you cast a privacy charm first?"

Draco slipped his wand from his pocket, whispered a _Muffliato_ and added a _Discombobulate_ , which would send people who came too near them away, thinking they had something to do elsewhere. The dread of what he was about to hear weighed heavily on his heart.

"Tell me, Greg. Please."

Greg nodded, taking a deep breath.

"You remember what it was like when we just left Hogwarts. The war was about to break out, our parents were in deep with the Dark Lord without telling us… I tried to get away but I was never a very good wizard, we both know that. My mother managed to track me and convinced me to come back. I was too scared to contact any of the people I knew were working for the other side, so I stayed. And I got involved. Your father, much as you may hate him now, did keep you away from a lot of the things that were going on, even if he kept you under the Imperius and made you… I have no intention to make light of what you have gone through, Draco, but I just… You have no idea what it was like for the rest of us. Some chose to be loyal to the Dark Lord and took his Mark. I never have, but… Draco, Pansy almost did."

"Willingly?" The interruption was so soft, Greg almost thought he'd imagined it, but for the pleading look Draco sent him.

"Yes. Very willingly. I have no idea what made her change her mind. Not many women took the Mark. But she did consort with the Dark Lord's inner circle. When any members of the resistance were captured, they were taken to Lestrange Manor. Your Aunt Bellatrix tortured the Weasley girl and some of her friends, like that Muggleborn, within an inch of their lives, after Pansy identified them. I am still not sure how some of them managed to get away, but thank Merlin and Morgana they did." Greg shuddered, reliving the scenes he had been hoping to forget. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not notice Draco's hands clenching the armrests of his chair, or the air simmering with anger, uncontrolled magical outbursts shaking everything outside the wards he had thrown up.

"She loved it, Draco. The torture, the killing… I am not by any means sure she ever did anything herself, but she loved watching. Dear Gods, the glee with which she used to recount those horrors… When the War started to favour the Order, she fled to the Continent. You know she has always had an excellent sense of self-preservation. Not many people know how involved she was in the War, you see. She was always careful to hide her Mark, and she wore feature-altering Glamours or masks all the time. But I always knew it was her."

Draco was lost for words. The idea that _Pansy_ had been there when Bellatrix tortured Hermione, had relished in her pain, enraged him beyond belief. He wanted to break something, run out and put the woman under a _Cruciatus_ until she lost her mind to avenge… It took all his willpower to contain his anger.

"But how can she be free? How can she be out and free, as if the War did not even touch her? Why have the Aurors not arrested her, put her on trial?" he bit out.

Greg shrugged. "Nobody knows about her. She left two years into the War, after all. So much happened after that. Since most of the Death Eaters are either dead or Kissed, I suppose there are not all that many sane people left who know and could testify against her."

Draco took a deep breath. The rage coiled deep in his belly and made it difficult to think clearly. And he had to think clearly. He had to direct his anger at the right person, and that was not Greg Goyle. But he could not help sounding bitter when he asked, "Why did you not go to the Aurors?"

Greg let out a mirthless laugh."Me? The only reason I was not sent to Azkaban is that I defected before taking the Mark and saved a couple of Muggles and Muggleborns from a Death Eater in the process, then I hid out until the War ended. Nobody trusts me. My name alone makes people suspicious. I am, in fact, quite lucky I even get treatment here. What makes you think the Aurors would want to know? And is my word enough evidence? A good attorney could get her out."

"But…"

Greg cut in. "You need not believe me on my word, Draco, I can show you the memories. And if you think it is enough, you can take them to the Aurors. But we both know Pansy Parkinson. You know I am telling the truth. She enjoyed the torture and killing, as long as she could avoid partaking in it. She only joined the Dark Lord because she was convinced he would win, and she fled to the Continent because she was convinced he would lose. She has a very keen sense of self-preservation and she always knows which way the wind will blow before it has even changed direction. She may never change her views but she wants to be on top of the ladder, so she will pretend she did. I believe she is not, as such, a dangerous person, she cares too much about her life and her status to risk being caught in a crime. That is why I never said anything. Because either she really has changed, in which case she deserves a second chance, or she has not, but she still would do nothing to jeopardize her ambitions."

Draco shook his head, overwhelmed with all this new information. "She's never setting foot in my house again," he muttered, more to himself than to Greg. He was trying to make sense of the many thoughts whirling through his head. "I won't have it, I care not what Mother says. I must talk to Potter, see what we can do. I cannot let her get away with… I just cannot believe…" He groaned, his head heavy in his hands. Up until that moment, though he could hardly be insensible to the horrors of the war, it had still been something he could turn away from. It was something he had pushed away to the very furthest recesses of his mind. He had known Hermione Granger had fought, had been captured, had been tortured, but the reality of it never had struck him until now.

"I am sorry, Draco. I know it was cowardly not to tell you before… I just thought, if you were happy together… You deserve to be happy, you do know that, do you not?"

Greg's voice was gentle and a little fearful. Draco sat quite still for a very long time. He let this new knowledge turn over in his mind until he knew what course of action to take. He had to remind himself that nobody knew about his relationship with Hermione Granger when they were at Hogwarts together. Then again, if anyone had known, it was quite likely she would not be alive today. He shuddered and pressed his hands to his stomach to combat the sudden nausea that such a thought invoked. When he finally looked at Greg, there was determination in his eyes, and a fire that had been lacking for many, many years.

"Pansy Parkinson is never setting foot in my house again. My mother will leave after New Year. You, Greg Goyle, are going to take me up on my offer and move in until you find your feet. And Miss Parkinson will not go unpunished. I will personally make sure she pays her due. Yes, she will not get away with this."

He stood up, anger still swirling around deep inside. He clenched his fists to hide the tremor and tried to conjure up a calm smile.

"I really should be going now, Greg. But I shall return in a few days to take you home."

Greg nodded, and watched his friend leave with a thoughtful expression. He hoped he had done the right thing in telling Draco of Pansy's involvement in the War. From what Draco had said, he believed the man to have someone else in mind for marriage, but surely the society gossips would have known if he had been seen with anyone? His strong reaction against Pansy, though entirely justified, was still a little strange. She had, after all, always had a cruel streak. He shook his head in confusion. He knew he would have to wait for Draco's next visit to receive an answer to his questions.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you to hobbit penguin for betaing. All remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you** ** **very much** , my dear readers, for all the reviews, follows and favourites. **

**Well, this is a twist for the books, isn't it?**


	21. Yule dinner

**Yule Dinner**

"Draco, darling, where have you been? Pansy called this morning, she was really disappointed she did not see you." Narcissa smiled at her son when he emerged from the fireplace in the sitting room. Draco walked over to her and sat down heavily.

"I was out." His sullen tone was a stark contrast with Narcissa's happy voice. Her lips twisted in a half-smile. "Well, it seems to have done no good at all for your temper, my dear. Maybe if you had stayed, Miss Parkinson could have lifted your spirits. Such a lovely young lady she is, always a kind word, never lacks for conversation… I invited her over for dinner tonight. She kept saying how sorry she was you were out, and she stayed here for ages. But she had to leave, she had some Yule celebration to attend, and it just seemed to break her heart. So I invited her over for dinner, of course."

Draco looked up, a hard gleam in his eyes that took his mother by surprise.

"Mother, I will not receive Pansy here tonight. Let her know, please."

Narcissa sniffed and raised an eyebrow in disdain. "I most certainly shall not, Draco, it is just not done. You will attend dinner here tonight and you will behave like a proper gentleman. Pansy is very fond of you, you know. Everyone keeps saying what a lovely couple you make."

Draco could not quite hide his exasperation at her thoughtless comments. "Mother, stop. Just, stop."

She looked at him, all injured innocence and false concern. "I have not the honour of understanding what you mean, my darling Son."

He took a deep breath and said in a carefully steady voice, "Stop trying to push me to propose to Miss Parkinson. Do not even entertain the idea of a union between us because it is never going to happen. And she will not set foot in this house again. If you insist on seeing her for dinner, you will kindly do so elsewhere. She is no longer welcome here."

Narcissa shook her head. She busied herself with draping her robes in a more flattering flow around her and said, with a light laugh, "What silly nonsense is this, Draco? Of course she is still welcome here. You forget your place, son. And I suggest you reconsider your thoughts on…"

Draco sprang from his seat. His anger, never really subdued since he had heard Greg's story, was rolling off him in waves and the rage seemed to make him even taller than he already was. He towered over his mother, who leaned back against the sofa, her mouth open in surprise, and possibly even fear.

"Mother, that is enough." His voice rang through the sitting room, measured and clipped, fury brimming under the surface. "I think it is not I, but _you_ who has forgotten their place in this household. I own this house, I decide who is welcome here, and Pansy Parkinson no longer is. You _will_ respect my wishes, and you will be so kind as to remember that I do not have to justify myself to you. You are here as my guest, Mother, you are not the Lady of the house." He took a deep breath, then continued, "You will tell Miss Parkinson she is not to come here tonight, and if you have any sense, Mother, you will stay away from her. She is not an asset to your reputation. But whether you decide to see her again or not, you will never invite her into _my_ house again."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, pausing at the door.

"I also believe it is time you start thinking of when you shall go back to Paris, so I can arrange for an International Portkey. You should know that Greg Goyle will come here when he is discharged from the hospital, and he will need peace and quiet to convalesce. So you may want to consider leaving before he arrives." Before she could respond, he was gone.

* * *

Draco just about managed not to slam the door to his library. He cast a silencing charm, conjured up a vase and threw it against the far wall. It shattered into pieces at the impact. He watched them fall and tumble onto the carpet with cold satisfaction. He had tried to go to the Ministry, but it was closed to visitors on Yule Day and the Aurors on duty had told him to come back in a few days, as they had their hands full with the usual emergencies. They had no time to spare for a former Death Eater. He had tried to visit the Potters, determined to go straight to Harry after he had been turned away at the Ministry, as he would, at the very least, listen to his story and make sure someone would act, but the Potters had not been at home. His mother's behaviour had only added to his frustration, but he did not regret his outburst. It was time for her to go, and he could not wait to see the back of her.

Only then he noticed the tawny owl that had been perched on his desk, as it bristled its feathers and gave him a disapproving glare. It held out its leg imperiously, and Draco could have sworn it seemed to raise its eyebrows, even though owls do not have any.

Muttering an apology, he took the parchment off the owl and scratched it on the head.

"I don't have any treats here, but if you want some I can call Essie."

The owl nibbled affectionately at his finger, and Draco chuckled. He summoned his house-elf, asked her to bring some treats for the owl and rolled open the parchment.

 _Caro,_

 _I never received an answer to my previous owl, so this one will wait until you give it a response. I hope you have not forgotten your promise to join us for Yule? Blaise would love to see you again. You know you are as dear to me as my own son, and I want my family around me to celebrate Midwinter. No matter how late you receive this, Draco, you will always have a seat at our table. Join us, if your mother can spare you._

 _E. Zabini_

Draco smiled, penned a quick confirmation and gave it to the owl, who ruffled his feathers and hooted in pleasure as Draco patted him again.

"Off you go now," he said, opening the window with a lazy wave of his wand.

He had indeed forgotten about Mrs. Zabini's invitation in the confusion that followed Greg's revelations. It was not so late he could not still go to Zabini Manor and forget all about the day's upheaval. He decided to change into more formal robes before joining his friends.

He met his mother on the stairs and informed her he would be gone.

"But Draco, not today, of all days? Not on Yule? You should spend this day with family." Although her manner was calm, Draco sensed his mother was upset. He sighed, and was silent for a moment, trying to formulate his thoughts.

"One can perhaps not choose the family one is born into, but one can choose the family one spends their life with. Mother, I told you before you left at the end of the summer, that I had a very difficult time understanding everything that happened. I told you that I had a hard time forgiving you. I do not want to lose you. Really, I do not, because you are all that is left of the family I was born into. But I cannot do this. I cannot pretend everything is fine between us and I cannot pretend I have forgiven you. I want to spend Yule with the family I have chosen. Maybe next year we can…" He broke off, unable to finish a promise he was quite certain he would not be able to keep. "It is too soon. It is just too soon. I am sorry."

Narcissa said nothing, but Draco could not be blind to the pain in her eyes. He nodded at her and made his way into his room, conscious of the single, silent tear that ran down his own cheek. He closed his door and leaned against it, feeling strangely relieved.

* * *

"Draco!" Blaise enveloped his best friend in a hug that Draco returned, though rather awkwardly. He was not usually this physical with Blaise, but somehow it seemed appropriate, since it was the first time they had met again since the accident.

"Thank you, my friend" Blaise whispered in his ear, tightening his arms around Draco just a little bit.

"I could hardly just leave you there. I have scarcely so many friends that I can afford to lose any of them." Draco tried to suppress his emotions with an off-handed remark, but he could not help being relieved to see his friend again.

Blaise let go of him and turned around to accompany him to the sitting room, where the other guests were gathered.

"I am glad you could come, Draco. I was… I was a little surprised I had not seen you before, I thought… No matter, you are here now." Placing an arm around Draco's shoulders, he walked into the large sitting room, which was amply decorated in Slytherin green and silver Yule decorations.

"Mother, look who decided to join us after all," Blaise announced to the room, and all conversation seemed to halt for a few heartbeats. Mrs. Zabini came up to him and gave him another tight hug. " _Carissimo_ , I am delighted you are here. It would not be a proper Yule celebration without you, Draco. Come, have a drink, sit down." Blaise left him to his mother's attentions and sat down next to Miss Greengrass, lacing his fingers with hers.

Draco happily let the Zabini matriarch talk as his eyes wandered about the room. He nodded at Daphne and Theo, who were standing near the fire, little Elladora swaddled in their arms. He saw Flora and Luna, sitting on a window ledge with steaming cups in their hands, laughing, the fading light of the early winter afternoon illuminating their silhouettes, and Harry and Hermione, engaged in what seemed to be a heated discussion, though their voices were quiet and Draco could not make out anything they were saying from where he sat. He focused instead on Mrs. Zabini, Blaise, and Astoria, who were sitting near him. As soon as Mrs. Zabini allowed him an opening to speak, he took the opportunity to wish joy to the happily betrothed couple.

"By the by, Blaise, Miss Greengrass, my congratulations on the engagement. Mrs. Zabini was so kind as to inform me a couple of days ago."

Miss Greengrass blushed prettily and Blaise grinned, placing a quick kiss on her hand.

"Nothing could make me happier, Draco. I'm the luckiest wizard alive," he said, with a happy sigh.

"And I the luckiest witch," Astoria chipped in, smiling at Blaise and looking at him as if he were the handsomest man alive.

Draco privately thought their behaviour was on the verge of disgusting, so entranced were they by each other's presence, but he smiled nonetheless.

"I have to admit, it was a bit of a surprise," he said carefully. He could hardly say what he thought, that if a man who had once had the good fortune of gaining the affections of a woman as brilliant as Hermione Granger could be satisfied to spend his life instead with a woman of insipid artifice, he must be a fool indeed.

"I cannot tell you the exact moment or time it happened either. While I was recovering from that accident, she always took such great care of me, and we talked so much, and somewhere between the healing potions, books and walks, we fell in love."

Draco, who doubted any interesting conversation could ever be expected from Astoria, merely nodded, tuning out the rest of the conversation, which had quickly turned into the singing of praise onto a woman he still thought undeserving of such devotion. His eyes flicked towards Hermione, but he quickly looked away again when he realised she was staring at him. He had to suppress a sudden flare of envy at Blaise, who was now engaged and about to settle down with the witch he loved.

Despite some melancholy moments, he really enjoyed his evening. He teased Theo and Blaise, feeling like they were in the Slytherin common room once more, he talked Quidditch with Harry and Nargles with Luna, and he danced with Flora and Mrs. Zabini. He could not bring himself to ruin the warm and loving ambiance by any mention of Pansy and her disgusting past. Tomorrow, he decided, would be soon enough.

The only damper on the festive mood came when his mother made a surprise appearance. The happy atmosphere in the sitting room seemed to disappear instantly, as soon as the house-elf announced who had arrived.

"The Lady Narcissa Malfoy being in Floo, Mistress. She being admitted?"

Mrs. Zabini glanced at Draco, who had stiffened in his seat. "Yes, we can receive her." Though her tone did not reveal how she felt, there was a twist of her lips that betrayed her annoyance. The conversations had stilled, and everyone waited in silence until they heard the footsteps in the hallway that announced the arrival of the unwanted guest. Mrs. Zabini stood up from her seat, Blaise at her side, to receive her.

Narcissa entered the room, her head held high, her eyes sweeping around to take in the expressions and demeanor of everyone in the room before focusing on her hostess.

"Elissa, my dear, my apologies for visiting so unexpectedly."

"Narcissa, this is certainly a surprise. Happy Yule." Mrs. Zabini made a slight curtsy, which his mother barely deigned to return.

"Happy Yule indeed." Draco shivered as he heard the disdain in his mother's voice. "It was rather lonely, but I will not intrude on your little… party." Her eyes flicked at the Potters and Hermione Granger, then at Theo and Daphne.

"I only came to convey my best wishes to the newly engaged couple and to invite you all for a little dinner the day after tomorrow. A thank you, Elissa, for taking in my son, all those months ago. I am certain he has neglected to thank you properly for your kindness and charity."

Draco pressed his lips together in annoyance. Her words, her behaviour, her very presence were designed to insult and provoke, but he knew he must keep his composure. Any reaction from him, and she would play the injured mother. Though nobody in the room would, even for a moment, be deceived, he did not want to give her the pleasure.

Elissa Zabini raised an eyebrow. "We would have taken him in any time, Narcissa. You know he is like a son to me. I should never let anything happen to him if there was anything I could do to help." The implied _unlike you_ was painfully clear. Draco could see his mother's anger in the cold glare in her eyes and a twitch of her lips, but to him the remark gave only consolation and strength. It told him that he was not alone.

"Quite. In any case, you are kindly invited. It will be my goodbye dinner, you see," Narcissa replied, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "My life is in France now, as my son was kind enough to remind me." Draco sent a cold smile at his mother, but still refused to rise to the bait. "So I will be leaving in a few days, but I cannot in good conscience go away again without thanking his friends for their kind hospitality." She pointedly looked around the room. "You are all invited, of course. Draco will give you the address, since it is in _his_ house."

With that final taunt - which, again, received no reaction - she nodded at Blaise and Mrs. Zabini, turned on her heel and swept out of the room, her cloak billowing in her wake. As soon as the door closed behind her, there was a collective sigh of relief, and laughter and warmth seemed to flood the room again.

"For a moment there I thought the room was invaded by Dementors." Potter shivered dramatically, then looked at Draco with a contrite smile. "I mean no offence to you, of course, Malfoy."

Draco waved the apology away. "None taken, I assure you. But at least now you understand why I am sending her back to France. One gets quite tired of casting a Patronus every day, you know."

They shared a look of understanding. Then Potter shifted rather uncomfortably and ran a hand through his unruly mop of hair. He asked, hesitantly, "Do you think she meant it?"

"That she is leaving? Of course. If she refuses to leave of her own accord, I shall Stupefy her before I Portkey her back to Paris." Draco nodded decisively. When he had said this before, almost jokingly, he had thought he would never do such a thing, but now his former reservations about taking such drastic measures had completely disappeared.

Potter shook his head, whether in disapproval or disagreement was not immediately clear. "I meant, the invitation," he clarified, eventually. "Did she mean to invite us all? I mean, I am hardly one of her favourite people, not to mention Hermione. She cannot have gotten over her prejudices so easily."

Draco glanced at Hermione, who was standing nearby but with her back to them. He was certain she was listening, though, the sudden tension in her shoulders betraying her.

"I honestly have no idea what goes on in her head, Potter. But she must know by now that being on good terms with the Heroes of the Wizarding World can only bring positive attention to the Malfoy name, so it is very much possible she did mean it, if only for her own social advancement. And even if she did not, please accept the invitation from me - I would very much like you, Mrs. Potter and Miss Granger to join that little dinner party. She is hosting it in _my_ house, after all, and I can invite whomever I want."

Harry agreed and walked away to find his wife and inform her that they were expected to attend this fated dinner. Hermione turned around when he had gone.

"Did you mean that?" she asked quietly. He looked at her, saw the conflict in her eyes, hope warring with confusion and fear, and stepped closer to her. He remembered her reaction, only yesterday, when she had seen Pansy approach him, and decided that boldness - as bold as anyone could be in polite society - was the best course. She was, after all, a Gryffindor, and would appreciate a candid answer. He swallowed, searching her eyes for any sign of encouragement, gently took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips.

"I would love for you to be there," he said, equally quietly. He hoped his face conveyed what his voice could not, not here, not in public, where anyone might hear. He saw her eyes widen, her lips move to form words that never found a voice, and the grip on his hand tightened, as if she wanted to make sure he was real and not a dream.

They just stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then the cries of baby Nott startled them both. Hermione stepped back and Draco let go of her hand, but they seemed equally reluctant to look anywhere but at each other. The baby gave another penetrating shriek that made her wince. Draco smiled softly, then turned around and offered to take the crying infant in his arms. Daphne had not trusted him enough to let him hold her before, but after Blaise's accident, she seemed to have warmed up to him, and he was allowed to take the child, cradling her and walking around until she fell asleep again. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, but focused his attention on the baby, wondering whether he had been too forward, and if Hermione would accept the invitation. He had no other chance to ask her, but hope flared up in his heart every time their eyes met. She looked indecisive still, but the little smile that played on her lips almost convinced him she would be there.

* * *

 **AN - thanks to my beta hobbit penguin. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**

 **Sweet Merlin and Morgana, over 250 reviews! I am beyond grateful for your support and love for this story. Thank you.**

 **Pansy will be dealt with in the next chapter...**


	22. Confessions

**22\. Confessions**

A lot had happened in the two days since Draco had discovered the truth about Pansy Parkinson's involvement in the War. In the first haze of uncontrolled fury he had wanted to track her down and deliver her to the Aurors single-handedly, but he had never bothered to find out where she was staying, and the Aurors had sent him off without ceremony on Midwinter Day. His second idea had been to find Potter and get him to help, but the Potters had not been at home when he called, so he had returned to the Dragon's Nest in a fit of helpless frustration. He had relished in barring the woman from ever setting foot in his house again, had enjoyed telling his mother that he was Master of the house, not she, and by the time he had arrived at Zabini Manor, the first wave of vexation had calmed down.

He had chosen not to bring up Pansy at the Zabini's, for it would only spoil the evening, and he would not allow her to poison any part of his life any more than she already had done. But now he was ready, ready and willing to cut that evil out of his life forever.

It was the morning of Narcissa's dreaded dinner party, for which she had so unceremoniously invaded the Zabini's Yule celebration. She had been cold towards him ever since Yule, but he took no offense at her behaviour. She was hurt and could find no other way to express her disapproval than cold disdain. It was, in fact, a lot easier to deal with her indifference than it had been to suffer the motherly attentions she had lavished on him at the beginning of her visit. He greeted her with a smile she did not return.

"Are you sure you will not join me for Mrs. Shafiq's Winter Breakfast? I hear her enchanted garden is an absolute delight," he said, more as a matter of form than because he really wanted her to accompany him.

"Oh, I could not possibly go today, Draco," she replied. "I have the dinner party to prepare for, after all, it is tonight. And besides, Mrs. Shafiq is such a great friend of _yours_ , she would not appreciate _my_ appearance."

"She might slight you less if you behaved as if the War had affected you more," he murmured, but his mother made him no further reply. Instead, she continued to talk about the dinner party.

"I am certain the Zabini's have accepted, and the Notts, of course. And I believe both Zabini children are to bring their betrothed, so that makes seven, and ourselves is nine. Will Essie be available to look after the child? They do seem to bring her everywhere. I understand the pride young parents take in their offspring, of course, but I do wish they kept to tradition and left her in the care of a nursery elf more often. Taking care of children is so exhausting, one is never quite done." She sighed, almost in sympathy, but then she had always had three nursery elves to help her.

Draco interrupted her quickly. "You forget the Potters, Mother. I have expressly invited them, as well as Miss Granger, to join us tonight. You shall, of course, receive them all with the same courtesy."

Narcissa Malfoy looked up and met his gaze without flinching. "But of course, Draco. So there will be twelve at dinner altogether. Yes, twelve is a good number. I really shall have too much to do before tonight, Draco, I cannot accompany you to this little breakfast you have been invited to." She looked up at the ornate clock on the mantlepiece. "You had better go, or you will be late."

Draco took his leave with a little bow and traveled to Mrs. Shafiq's house with the Floo, quite pleased he had not been able to convince her.

* * *

Mrs. Shafiq welcomed him in her usual warm and friendly manner, tutting in disapproval at the traces of ash on his beautiful robes before swishing her wand and vanishing the offending dust. Draco blushed under her ministrations, but enjoyed them nonetheless.

"You are the last to arrive, my boy, so will you do me the honour of escorting me to the gardens? One should not let the guests wait much longer." She waited until he offered his arm and they walked down the long hallway together.

Draco had heard much about Mrs. Shafiq's enchanted gardens, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of this wondrous winter scene. His eyes swept over everything in awed silence, the cherry trees with their frosted pink blossoms, fountains of ice that ran over with bubbling drinks in soft pastel colours, high laurel hedges dusted in snow, rose bushes that bloomed in fiery red, gold and pink… Ice sculptures moved in slow and creaking gestures, little fairies fluttered high up above, their rainbow coloured lights reflected in every gleaming surface. But despite the hibernal scene, the temperature in the garden was quite as agreeable as the any room inside the house.

They descended the steps to mingle with the other guests, who were milling about the lawn.

"Is she here," he asked, after searching the crowds.

Mrs. Shafiq smiled. "Be calm, dear boy. She will find you soon enough. Have some breakfast first. Some conversations you do not want to have on an empty stomach, now do you?" She guided him to one of the tables, piled high with the most delicious spread, but despite the enticing scent of freshly baked bread, Draco could not bring himself to eat. His nerves were getting the better of him, but he knew he must play his part. He was about to take a plate and serve himself some hot rolls, when a hand on his arm stopped his movement. He turned around, a forced smile on his face that did not become much more genuine when he saw who had ventured to capture his attention. He made a formal bow.

"Miss Parkinson, what a surprise to see you here," he said, not quite in a friendly voice, but as near to it as he could manage.

"Why, Draco, such formalities are not necessary with me." She laughed that artificial, musical laugh that irritated him more than a Fwooper's song and unceremoniously hooked her arm through his.

"I have not seen you these three days, it positively seems like forever! Indeed, you must tell me all that you have been doing." She looked up at him and fluttered her eyelashes while sending him a coy smile. It took all his self-possession to smile back at her and keep up some light conversation. He knew he must not make a scene here, in front of all these people. Mrs. Shafiq would never forgive him if he ruined her Winter Breakfast.

He began to talk about his visit to the Zabini's, without mentioning the Potters or Hermione, while they walked around the garden, gently steering her away from the other guests.

They wandered deeper into the garden, where the laurel hedges would provide shelter from eyes and ears, and where they found, eventually, a secluded bench in a small enclosure. The noise of people mingling and talking had faded away behind them. They seemed quite alone.

Pansy sat down and arranged her dress, artfully lifting the hem so her ankle showed, just a little, and looked up at Draco, who had let go of her arm and now stood before her, hands behind his back and a frown on his face.

"Now, Draco, I must say I am surprised." She looked around with a deliberate motion. "I had not thought, after our last conversation at the ball, that you would risk my reputation as well as yours by leading me to this reclusive spot? If we should be found, why, you would have no choice but to marry me or face scandal." The lightness of her voice belied the implied threat, and Draco had to make an effort to keep his anger under control.

"Or perhaps," she said, while patting the seat next to her, "perhaps you have come to your senses about us?"

Draco could not help but be amused at the misapprehension. He suppressed the laugh that threatened to break through his mask and conjured up concern instead.

"Miss Parkinson, I feel obliged to warn you that there are rumours going around about your involvement in the War. I have heard some of the strangest stories." He paused, studying her face for a reaction. To his surprise she only smiled.

"You are most kind to tell me about this, but if they are only rumours, why should I care?" She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "There may be no truth to them at all."

Draco contemplated her for a little longer in silence.

"I am surprised you take this so lightly. As you know, Potter and I are close acquaintances now, and he has told me that the Aurors will look into every rumour of Death Eater involvement. I can only warn you, for the sake of what our friendship once was, to be careful." He knew he had managed to sound sincere when she sprang up from her seat and stepped up to him, placing both hands on his cheeks with unexpected gentleness.

"Oh, but there is nobody left who can tell them about me, Draco, have no fear. Those who knew, are now dead or Kissed. I am quite safe." Her eyes flicked to his lips and he turned away from her, both to avoid the kiss she was so clearly hoping to elicit and to hide the flash of annoyance and anger that passed through his eyes.

"I suppose you could always claim the Imperius, as I have done."

Pansy regarded him a little curiously, then a look of understanding came into her eyes, followed by pity and disdain. "I never needed the Imperius to follow my parents' example." Her lips curled into a sneer, but she soon smiled up at him again with annoying adoration.

It had almost been a confession, but not quite. He believed Greg without prejudice but he needed to hear it from her own lips, needed to hear her say the words she had so far carefully avoided.

"That must be a falsehood, surely. You, whom I have known since childhood. You, who cried at the death of your Crup. You, who fainted at the sight of blood. You could never be one of them, Pansy." He let out a scathing laugh. "You have not the stomach or strength to torture anyone."

She rounded on him like a Fury, eyes flashing with irritation and hands balled into fists. "And this from the man who would not take the Mark willingly? Oh, Draco, as if you are so much better. But I need not torture others to enjoy it. I was there, I could hear their screams and pleas. That was enough."

Draco shook his head in stubborn denial. "I refuse to believe it. I cannot remember ever seeing you at any of those gatherings."

Pansy looked at him with wry amusement. "Oh Draco, sweet, innocent man, of course you cannot remember. I wore glamours to hide my face, but I was there. Do you remember that time they caught the Weasley girl? Oh, I forget, you were kept at home that day. But to see her writhe on the floor, to hear her voice break… Your Aunt Bellatrix was very accomplished. She broke the little blood-traitor girl within an hour." Her eyes gleamed with undisguised excitement at the memory. "She was a lot easier than the Mudblood, in any case. But it was very amusing to see those conceited hussies reduced to nothing but the dirt under my shoes."

She was not allowed to say anything else. Out of nowhere, a rope began to coil around her body, wrapping her arms and legs together so she could not move. Her wand flew out of her petticoat pocket and was stopped in midair, where it seemed to hover uncertainly, until Harry Potter appeared, trembling with anger.

"Pansy Parkinson, you are under arrest for suspicion of Death Eater activity during the War." Harry's voice was cold as iron, and he stepped forward until he was barely an inch from her face.

"You were there, you saw what they did to Ginny Weasley, and you dare relish in it? Believe me, Miss Parkinson, that was a grave mistake." He turned around to Draco and offered Pansy's wand. "Will you do the honours?"

Draco inclined his head gracefully.

"Thank you, Potter. But I think we should, perhaps, do this together."

They each held onto one end of the wand. Their eyes met and they nodded at each other.

Pansy's voice cried out in the background but their focus was solely on the wand between them. "Draco? What are you doing? Help me get out of here. Attack Potter, he is alone, help me, for Salazar's sake, I…"

The dry snap that fractured the wand in two echoed loudly in their small enclosure.

Pansy let out a screech of anger and pain as her wand was snapped. She fell on her knees, and, unable to get up again, she glared up at the two men before her.

"You! You tricked me! How dare you! I knew it. I knew I should have killed that rotten Mudblood when I had the chance. Oh, I knew about the two of you, Draco. You and Miss Granger, hiding your relationship at Hogwarts. You were not quite careful enough, were you? Anyone could have followed you to one of your secret meetings behind the silver boulders at the lake." She cackled at the surprise on his face. "I knew from the start. And I knew you were going to defect as soon as you had the chance. I was the one to warn your parents to strengthen their wards to intercept any of your correspondence. I could not let you get away, I could not let you go to her. You were mine! You were always meant to be mine!" She sounded hysterical now, and both Draco and Harry took a step back, unsettled by the force of her emotions. "But you will never have her, Draco. She will marry that blood traitor Weasley and they will have a burrow of redheaded children. I saw them together, Draco. He loves her and she will never choose you… I should have just killed her, but she got away, and she got away at the Lakes again!" She continued to rant on, ever more incoherent, but both Harry Potter picked up on one word.

"The Lakes?" he asked. She ignored him at first, but when he tilted her head up and forced her to look up at him, and repeated his question, she gave in.

"I overheard Weasley talk about your little trip to the Notts in Diagon Alley. As soon as I realised Granger was there, with you, I knew I had to go." She glared at Draco, who could only stare at her, open-mouthed. "I knew I had no chance as long as she was in your orbit. But she was too fast, she cast that Shield Charm too quickly, and the attack missed her entirely. And after that I never saw her without one of your guard dogs on her trail." She spat at Harry, but he deftly sidestepped her little attack.

"That is quite enough." He touched his wand to a coin, which flared up red. A moment later, several Aurors appeared in the enclosure. They took charge of Pansy and Disapparated with her to the Ministry cells.

"That was unexpected," Draco said, after a long silence. Harry, who had barely recovered from all the information he had overheard, nodded.

"We never knew who was responsible for Ginny Weasley's condition. The whole Weasley family will be very grateful that you helped us discover the truth." His voice trembled a little.

"She was so altered a creature after her capture, nobody could quite understand. Not that we blame her, of course. It is her way to deal with everything. But the War destroyed that wonderful woman, and now, at least, we will know. It makes no difference to her, but it will make a difference to her family."

Draco did not want to ask the obvious, but his prolonged silence seemed to induce Potter to say some more.

"That is not the reason I chose to marry someone else, you know. She and I had grown apart long before this happened, and Luna and I were already engaged, though we kept it quiet until the War was over. Any association with me would have made her an obvious target for the Dark Lord." Harry shook his head vigorously, as if to chase away the dark memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He looked at Draco, his head tilted to the side in deep contemplation. Draco shifted nervously. He had not expected Pansy to know about his relationship with Hermione, or to have been involved in the accident at the Lakes. But no, it no longer was an accident, it was an assassination attempt.

Draco's vision began to glow red around the edges from the anger and hatred he tried to control. That woman… That blasted woman… Azkaban would be too good for her. He wished he could do more, could hurt her as much as she had caused him to hurt, but he knew it would make him no better than his Father. And he wanted to be better.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his dark thoughts.

"She is mistaken if she thinks Hermione will marry Ronald Weasley. He has asked for her hand repeatedly, and she has always refused him," Harry Potter said softly. "I never quite understood why. He is angry with me, for I will not force her to accept him. She knows her own mind, and I respect her too much to exercise my power as the Head of her magical family." He paused, and Draco met his eyes even though he could not stop the colour rising on his cheeks. "You should know," Harry continued, with a little smile, "that, likewise, I should never forbid her to marry a man, should he be her wholehearted choice."

Draco could only nod, swallow, open his mouth without any sound coming out. Harry nodded at him and took his leave. Draco was left alone. He sank down on the bench, his hands covering his flushed cheeks.

"I see your little plan was a success," came the voice of Mrs. Shafiq. She sat down next to him and patted his shoulder with maternal pride. "Why so despondent? You did not care for the girl, you had no doubt she was guilty."

Draco shook his head. "It is not her I am thinking of right now," he admitted.

Mrs. Shafiq was quiet for so long, Draco almost forgot she was sitting next to him, until she spoke again.

"You really should be kinder to yourself, my dear."

He wanted to reply, but then his stomach growled loudly, making him flush with embarrassment once more, and Mrs. Shafiq stood up with a laugh.

"You had better hurry back to join the rest of the party. Most of the food will be gone by now, but I daresay you can still find some freshly baked bread and some of my Dirigible Plum preserve, I can recommend it."

Draco decided it was best to oblige his hostess and leave his confusion for later examination, in the peace and quiet of his own rooms.


	23. Words cannot express

**23\. Words cannot express**

Draco did not return home after the excitement of Mrs. Shafiq's Winter Breakfast. Instead, he called on Mrs. Potter, where he was due to await any further news from the Ministry. Potter had assured him Parkinson would be brought to justice, but he had known Pansy for too long not to be wary of an easy victory.

When he stepped out of the Floo, he was greeted not only by Mrs Potter, but by some of his other friends as well. Mrs. Zabini sat on the sofa, talking to Luna, and Daphne Nott and Miss Granger were sitting on the window sill together.

"Draco, I am so glad you came," Luna said as she got up and welcomed him. "I fear Harry has not yet returned. Come sit with us."

Draco accepted the invitation after greeting the other ladies in the room, and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Mrs. Zabini was talking about Blaise's engagement again, and he found it could not quite keep his attention.

"I was just so surprised, you see! And so quickly, too. They want to get married in a few months' time, I have no idea how we are going to organise a traditional wedding in such a short time, but they will not wait…"

Draco's eyes strayed towards Hermione, who was in deep in conversation with Daphne, but they were speaking so quietly he could hear nothing.

The conversation between Mrs. Zabini and Luna Potter flowed along, and Draco had nothing to contribute but the occasional hums and platitudes. His mind was still too fully occupied with the events of that morning.

He heard Hermione making excuses to Daphne and turned to watch her walk off to the writing desk in the corner, protesting the need to write some letters before they went out to meet Miss Greengrass later on. Daphne joined Luna and Mrs. Zabini on the sofa, and Draco stood up gracefully to retreat to the now unoccupied window sill, unwilling to listen any further to wedding preparations and silk and muslin and white peacock feathers five inches long.

He was lost in thought when Luna joined him at the window, which looked out over a dismal square in Muggle London. They could not make out much more than some shapeless forms moving about in the thick fog that pervaded the city regularly in wintertime, a stark contrast to the lovely winter garden he had left behind not an hour before.

"I hear you were invited to Mrs. Shafiq's Winter Breakfast, Draco. Her garden is supposed to be one of the prettiest in England. Harry had to work this morning, he simply refused to take us. But I have great hopes we will be invited again next year."

Draco took his cue from Luna and began to describe the wondrous enchanted garden with some animation. He gave a vivid description of the unicorn ice sculpture that had wandered around the lawn, but could not help glancing over at Hermione now and then. She seemed deeply engrossed in writing, however, and paid them no attention whatsoever. Mrs. Zabini and Daphne were still discussing wedding clothes and finery in loud voices.

"So, how have you been? We hardly had the time to talk at the Zabini Yule dinner," Draco said, eventually, when his descriptions of the gardens had run their course. "Have the potions helped you?"

Luna nodded happily, placing one hand over her now slightly protruding abdomen. "I feel much better now, thank you so much."

Draco inclined his head graciously. "Do let me know when you run low, I shall be happy to make any potion you require."

"It is so strange, to think new life is growing inside me, to think of all this happiness, when not even two years ago, we were still in hiding and had almost lost the war." Mrs. Potter sighed and stared out of the window with a wistful look on her face. "I cannot blame Mr. Zabini and Miss Greengrass to choose an early marriage over a long engagement. Not so long ago, we none of us had a future to look forward to. Now we just want to enjoy what time we have. The War did not leave many of us unscathed."

"No, we are not all as lucky as she has been," Draco agreed, looking at the radiant face of Mrs. Zabini. He did not begrudge her escaping the War so easily, not exactly. But sometimes it was hard not to be jealous, when he remembered how his own family had been embroiled in atrocities that still gave him night terrors.

Luna glanced over at him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. "Although I have to wonder how Miss Greengrass suddenly changed her mind," she said, in a low voice. "I mean, before our visit, she seemed to be pining away for the man she would never marry, during the visit she seemed to favour you, and suddenly, three months later, she is engaged to be married to another man entirely, and happy as can be." She paused, her face turning grave again. "I should never get over it if Harry suddenly… I cannot even think… I shall never understand the fickleness of a Slytherin's allegiance." Her voice had taken on a teasing tone at that last remark, though it was not entirely genuine. Draco saw she was thoroughly shaken by the idea of losing her husband, and obliged her by entering on the defense of his former Hogwarts house with vigour.

"I doubt it is the fickleness of Slytherins, my dear Mrs. Potter. Indeed, I rather think this is an example of the fickleness of what must have been a superficial love in the life of a romantic airhead. No, I will not allow fickleness to be a Slytherin trait. It must be her character, indeed it must. No house so loyal as Slytherin, once loyalties are declared. I will not deny that often a Slytherin will declare loyalty only to themselves, and therefore appear inconstant, but not in love. Never in love." He paused, then said, his voice thick with emotion, "Any person, whatever their house or loyalty, anyone who has ever truly loved will know that one can never get over such a loss so easily. You go through the motions, you live on, but the pain in your heart never heals." He broke off, turning to look out the window and avoiding Luna's gaze.

She studied him with those sharp grey eyes that were so strangely like his own. "You sound as if you know what you are talking about." Her voice was soft, encouraging, understanding, and Draco had never been so tempted to confess all. He pressed his lips together and fixed his eyes on the fence of the little park across the road, which was just starting to become visible in the lifting fog. There was complete silence in the room, even the scratching of a quill on parchment could no longer be heard. Then Mrs. Zabini's laugh echoed through the room and her conversation with Daphne resumed. They did not seem to resent Mrs. Potter for leaving them.

Draco very deliberately refused to look in Hermione's direction, although he thought he could feel her eyes boring holes in his back.

"What happened?" Luna asked, with quiet insistence.

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the window frame. His voice was very soft when he eventually answered. "I made a mistake. I thought she would be safer if we were not together, with the war looming over us. I was a coward, and I lost the one person I loved more than anything, more than life itself. When I realised what my father wanted me to do, I could not escape in time, and… well, the rest is history. It is too late now."

Draco thought he heard a faint gasp behind him, but he could not be sure, and he could not look at Hermione, not now. He bit the inside of his cheek to fight his emotions.

Luna placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I am sorry. Did she die in the War?"

Draco shook his head. "No, she is very much alive." _And sitting in this very room._

"Then why not talk to her? Why not try again? If you have both survived, you have another chance. It is not too late." Draco turned his head a little to regard the ethereal Mrs. Potter, the woman who always seemed to see what others did not. He met her gaze unflinchingly.

"She deserves better. She deserves better than a coward, a criminal."

"But if she can forgive you…"

"That does not mean I can forgive myself. It hardly matters, really. I had my chance, I lost it, I was too easily persuaded to give her up. And I will regret that for the rest of my life."

Luna shook her head in disbelief. "You really ought to be kinder to yourself, you know. You deserve a second chance as much as anyone."

"Hermione, have you finished your letters? Astoria will be waiting for us at the silk shop," Mrs. Nott suddenly called out, startling the two at the window.

Draco's eyes turned towards Hermione as she answered, "A few minutes more, Daphne, I just want to finish this letter to my parents."

She looked flushed, and Draco suddenly hoped she had not heard his conversation with Luna over the loud voice of Mrs. Zabini. He turned back to the window.

"Harry should be back soon, I think. He promised his business would not keep him much past noon," Luna said, changing the subject.

"It might have been a bit more important than he has let out," Draco said carefully, but just then the flames turned green and Harry Potter stepped into the room. He had barely had the time to greet his everyone when Mrs. Zabini stood up with alacrity.

"Are you ready yet, Miss Granger? I am certain Miss Greengrass will be waiting for us by now," Mrs. Zabini said impatiently.

Draco noticed Hermione was folding up a letter with great haste, scribbling something on the front.

"Yes, yes, I do apologize, I have finished now. Let me just find an owl and we can go." She sounded flustered, and left the room in a hurry. Mrs. Zabini and Daphne collected their cloaks and gloves and various other belongings and made their way to the travel room, chattering happily. Harry had come over to his wife and Draco, conscious of being the third where only two were required, walked away from them.

He had wandered off towards the writing desk in the corner, although he could not in all honesty say why it seemed so attractive. The door banged open again, startling him, and Hermione came running in, looking harried.

"So sorry, I left my cloak here." She walked over to the desk, grabbed her cloak and swung it around her shoulders. Then, with her back to Harry and Luna, she slid a folded sheet of parchment from a pocket, placed it on the desk and looked at Draco, her eyes ablaze with an emotion he did not dare name. She tapped on the parchment with deliberation, and smiled when he nodded. Then she turned around again and was gone.

Harry and Luna were still talking, and Draco sat down at the desk, staring at the folded parchment, with the letters D.M. written on top in the well-known elegant cursive. He recognised her handwriting instantly, his heart wrenching as the memories of illicit notes from a lifetime ago assaulted him. His fingers trembled when he unfolded the parchment.

 _I cannot believe I am hearing this. You meant to get out? To run away? Please tell me it is true. Please tell me you still love me, because I love you as much as I did back then, and I never stopped. I realise now I was too quick to judge, I was too proud to listen, but not any more. I love you, my Dragon, I love you still and that will never change._

 _Your voice is low but I will always recognise it. Oh Dragon, oh Love, be not so cruel to yourself. Give us another chance. I know you are afraid, and so am I, but we deserve this. We did not survive that horror, only to be miserable apart. You have suffered enough, Draco, it is time to forgive yourself. Take a chance on us, please._

 _Let me know, before I come to your mother's dinner party. I know not if I can stand sitting at the same table, in your house, if you no longer want me. I have been living in hope, and the time has come to make this hope a reality - or relinquish it forever._

 _Forever yours_

 _HG_

Draco trembled in his seat, his eyes going over the letter again and again. He needed to find her, he needed to tell her… But could he, really? Could he really give their relationship another chance? Then again, could he really walk away? His mind was in turmoil, and only his quick reflexes hid the parchment from view when Harry Potter appeared at his shoulder.

"Draco, are you feeling quite well? You look very pale." Draco blinked up at Potter, surprised at the concern in his voice. Instinct took over his voice.

"Malfoys are always pale, Potter," he said, but the words came out with only a shadow of the sneer he had been aiming for.

"You are shivering. Are you sure you are not ill? Maybe the exertions of the morning have taken their toll on you after all." Draco shook off Potter's hand and stood up from his chair, stuffing the note in his pocket. He wanted to say he was perfectly fine, but his legs wobbled, and Potter reached out a hand to steady him.

"Maybe I am done for," he admitted. "It has been an exhausting morning. But tell me, before I go. Pansy, is she…" He could not quite finish the sentence, dread settling in his stomach.

"The Wizengamot will be convened next week. If you and Mr. Goyle can testify, then she will surely go to Azkaban, if not receive the Kiss, between her activities during the War and her attempt to murder my adopted sister. Have no fear, she will not escape justice."

The sun peeked through the windows just then, promising a lovely afternoon, and Draco felt a sudden urge to walk, to be out, to breathe the cold winter air. He took his leave from the Potters, after extracting a promise that they would definitely attend dinner at his house that evening.

"And, Miss Granger as well," he said, desperately. He had no idea where to find her, how to tell her, or even what to tell her, but he knew he must somehow make sure she knew she would be welcome. "Please convey my best wishes and the warmest invitation for her to join you tonight. I look forward to seeing you, all three of you, tonight." He could not be more explicit.

* * *

His feet took him towards Diagon Alley, where he walked through the throng of shopping Witches and Wizards. He tried to remember if the women had mentioned which shop they were going to, but no name came to mind so he decided to just keep walking, hoping he would find her.

When he passed Flourish and Blotts, he glanced through the window and suddenly his heart stopped. Was that a flash of brown curls he had seen? Of course she would try to escape the dress shopping for a bookshop…

He entered the shop and looked around, walking quickly from one aisle to the next, hoping to discover her. He finally found her in the Ancient Runes aisle. He froze, causing several people to bump into him and mutter angrily, but he hardly noticed.

She looked up from the book she was leafing through, and their eyes locked. Draco only realised he had moved when their hands reached out and touched.

"Draco…" His name on her lips, a vague memory of when she had addressed him like that before, full of wonder, affection and gentleness.

He licked his lips, his mind a blank. He could hardly believe that she was here, that she had said his name, that she had written that letter and that she was now holding his hand.

"Say something," she whispered.

He stepped closer, running a finger over her cheek as if he still could not believe she was real.

"I am sorry. Hermione, I am so sorry."

She smiled, placing one finger over his lips. Her eyes were alight with that same emotion he had recognised earlier when she had given him the letter. That glorious letter.

"Say something else."

Draco just stared. His lips were burning where she had touched them, his eyes unable to look away. And then he knew exactly what to say.

"Yes."

She frowned, though her lips held on to an amused smile.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I meant to run away. My father found me before I could leave. I could not escape afterwards. Yes, I still love you. I never stopped loving you. The memory of your face, your smile, your kiss, was all that got me through these past years." He swallowed, his eyes devouring every line of her face, as if to etch her image in his soul, then he continued. "Yes, I want you in my life. I never want to lose you again. I want to give us another chance. If you can forgive me."

Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears, her lips were pressed closely together to stop the trembling. She took a deep, shuddering breath and placed both her hands on his cheeks. "You did nothing you need forgiveness for, my Dragon. I should be the one to beg for your mercy. Can you overlook my abominable pride, which kept us apart for much too long?"

"Of course," he said hoarsely. "Of course I forgive you. I will always forgive you."

She flung her arms around him, heedless of their situation, heedless of anyone who might see them together. He closed his eyes, holding onto her, relishing in the feel of her body against his. For the first time in seven years, he felt home.

* * *

 **AN: About time, isn't it? Thank you to my beta hobbit penguin and also special thanks to Ariel Riddle who is the bestest cheerleader a writer can wish for. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you all for the lovely reviews, follows and favourites. Your support and love for this story keeps me going now the end is in sight.**

 _(And, whoever that reviewer was who suggested I try my hand at Northanger Abbey as well... curse and bless you! I did not need another plunnie! But yes, it may happen. And it's all your fault.)_


	24. The art of conversation

**24\. The art of conversation**

They had moved on from the busy shops in Diagon Alley to the relative quiet of the Hyde Park walks. A bookshop was, after all, not the best place for a long overdue intimate conversation, even if Draco had, only for a moment, been able to forget he was in public. They walked in companionable silence, glancing at each other with secret smiles, her hand tightening on his arm occasionally, his hand covering hers gently, savouring each other's company in the anonymity of a Muggle park. All too soon, the silence between them was broken, words of devotion and love repeated with as much fervour as before. But much was still to be said, and much to overcome between them. They were soon discussing their painful rupture.

"My mother had convinced me that making our relationship in any way official would make you a target of attacks, and that I could never protect you once we were out of Hogwarts. I realise now, of course, that she was manipulating me. I had no idea my Father was a Lieutenant in the Dark Lord's ranks. If only I had known, I should never have returned home in the first place. My mother used my love for you against me, persuaded me you would be in more danger as my betrothed, and I returned to Hogwarts without the ring I had been planning to slip on your finger that day. Every day there were new stories of attacks on Muggleborns and half-bloods, it all confirmed everything my mother had said. I wanted to explain all that, but you were gone so quickly."

Hermione flushed and lowered her eyes in contrition. "I should, perhaps, not have reacted so impulsively and listened to your reasons, for then I could have persuaded you not to let me go. Perhaps then we should not have been apart all these years. Perhaps then you would not have returned to your parents."

Draco considered this in silence, then shook his head. "I cannot say you could have changed my mind. At the time, I believed that the choice I had made was for your safety, and any other choice would have put you at risk. And I would never do anything to risk your life, Hermione." She looked up at him again, sadness in her eyes, but whether it was regret for the years wasted or empathy for the heartbreaking choice he had made, he could not say. Her lips quirked up in a soft smile when he said her name, though, and he repeated it, relishing in the feel of the syllables on his lips. She was Hermione again, no longer Miss Granger, no longer a distant acquaintance.

Though they both felt the last had not yet been said on that subject, they decided to move on to more recent times.

Hermione's question, "Why did you not reach out when the War was over?" brought yet another long explanation on his part.

"You were a heroine, and I a criminal. How could I reach out to you, after all that I had done? How could I be worthy of your notice? Even now, I feel unequal to the task. But I am too selfish now to let public disapproval dissuade me from pursuing my own happiness, no matter how little a war criminal deserves to be happy in life."

She stopped walking and waited until he faced her. Her eyes were flashing with indignation and her whole body seemed to simmer in a haze of angry magic. "You, Draco Malfoy, are not a criminal, and I will happily spend the rest of my life persuading you of that." Then her anger abated, and she looked down at her hands, balled into fists. "Oh I shall never forgive myself for my temper! If only I had stayed and listened, I should have made you see sense, I should have gotten you out of their clutches before long… Oh Draco, what life have I condemned you to? I should never have given up on you so easily. I should have known. How can you stand here, so eager to renew our engagement, when I let you down? How can you forgive me?"

Draco placed his hands over her fists in an attempt to soothe her. Her distraught voice began to draw attention from the few Muggles around them. "I do not blame you," he said softly, "for your reactions that day. I blame myself for being taken in so easily. No, you have done nothing you need forgiveness for. It is myself I cannot forgive." Then, with a laugh, "What idiots we are, each so eager to take the blame for events that have long passed. We should look at the future, our future together. It sounds like while you spend your life convincing me I am no criminal, I will spend each day telling you that you were not at fault."

She laughed, too, and they continued walking. Dusk was beginning to set in, and they knew they must soon part, each to go home and dress for the dinner they were to attend that evening.

"I want to do this right, this time, Hermione. I will go to Potter tomorrow to ask his permission to court you. No, please, listen to me before you object. I want us to take our time, so we can work through what went wrong the first time, and start our lives together with only the memory of mistakes past, and not the weight of unsolved issues between us. I will follow the courting protocols to the letter, from here on in, because you deserve nothing less. You deserve tenfold the honours and respect that I should have been expected to bestow on any Pureblood witch, had my parents had their way, and I intend to show the world that very fact."

Hermione still shook her head when he had finished. "But that means we will have to wait another year at least before we can get married. Why the delay? We have already wasted so much time."

Draco looked down at her fondly. The setting winter sun highlighted the flush on her cheeks and the golden flecks in her brown eyes. Her beauty took his breath away, and for a moment, he forgot all he had wanted to say. "Why the haste? The war is over. We have all the time in the world. Nothing and no-one will separate us again, that I promise."

* * *

Dinner at the Dragon's Nest was as uncomfortable and strained as Draco had feared it would be. The party was continually falling into the familiar patterns of intercourse begun at their many gatherings at Zabini Manor, only to be jarred by the presence of one who just did not fit in. His mother was at the centre of the unease, and no amount of conversational skill on her part could alleviate the tension of the evening.

Fortunately, Draco found enough to entertain him. Mrs. Zabini was not above mentioning - ad nauseam - how happy the recent engagements of her children made her, and managed to subtly emphasise their Pureblood lineage. Draco knew that bloodlines were utterly meaningless to her, but his mother took it as a personal insult that her son was not likely to be in the same happy situation any time soon. He spent the evening chatting with Miss Zabini and her fiance, Mr. Tobias MacMillan, and avoiding Miss Greengrass while talking to Blaise. A few glances from both Potter and Mrs. Potter had made it clear that they were _au courant_ of the latest developments, or at least suspected it, and Potter seemed determined to latch onto his best friend and adopted sister with obstinate perseverance, despite Hermione giving him many an exasperated look every time he interrupted a conversation between herself and Draco. He would only raise an eyebrow in what seemed to be confused incomprehension, but Draco suspected was more a challenge than anything else. He could respect Potter for that, irritating though it was.

The highlights of his evening were the few moments he did have Hermione to himself. They had hardly any opportunity to talk anything but the dullest platitudes, but it was enough.

After the cool reception the Potters and Miss Granger received from his mother, Draco made a point of being cordial with them, much to his mother's barely concealed annoyance. He fetched them drinks, helped Luna into the most comfortable chair, laughed loudly with Potter over some silly joke and guided Hermione around the room on his arm to show her some of the improvements he had made to the house.

"She will never truly like me," Hermione said under her breath, after his mother had sent them a particularly disdainful look, "but then I shall never forgive her for driving us apart in the first place, so we are even. I hope you realise family dinners will always be uncomfortable. Do you mind that we shall never get along?"

Draco glanced at his mother, meeting her pointed gaze with perfect indifference, and then turned back to Hermione. "No, I do not mind at all. She has her life in France, and if she cannot accept my choice of partner and wife, then she may stay there. But I must believe it was still for the best, despite what happened, despite all the pain and heartbreak. My mother may have been manipulating me but she was not entirely wrong. Any connection between us would have put you in more danger, and you should not have survived even one capture by the Death Eaters. It seems that all we endured, we endured so we could be together now, and live a long life of happiness."

Hermione may not have been ready to agree with his sentiments, but a long discussion was avoided when Potter, once again, insinuated himself into their conversation and started talking about Quidditch.

Only once did their conversation turn serious. After discussing one of the old books he had asked Essie to put on display - Potter having left them to their conversation with a sigh of incomprehension - he noticed Hermione glancing at Blaise Zabini and Miss Greengrass, their easy manner displaying their love for all to see, with a look of longing, and Draco could not resist teasing her.

"There is one thing," he said, with a smile, "that I am not convinced I can forgive you for. Your behaviour at Zabini Manor when we met again in Autumn was too cruel." He meant to tease her, but something in his eyes must have betrayed the real pain he had felt at the time. Her eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I was such a fool back then. Too proud, too blind, too ignorant. I believed that I had moved on, I believed myself indifferent to you. How wrong I was! How can you proclaim to love me after I used you so cruelly?" She looked genuinely stricken as the full realisation of the pain she must have caused him hit her.

Draco bowed deeper over the book, as if to scrutinize the page they were looking at, as he answered, "I had never really entertained any hope of your forgiveness, Hermione. It hurt to see you with him, but I wished you happy, and I knew he was an honest man. I believed he deserved your love much more than I ever could."

She was quiet for so long that he could not help but sneak a glance at her, and was startled by the glimmer of tears in the corners of her eyes. Her voice was sad and full of self-loathing as she spoke. "Mr. Zabini was very entertaining and kind, and I enjoyed his company, but I never realised how encouraging my behaviour must have seemed to him, to all the world, until the accident happened and I understood from his friends and his mother that they almost expected me to stay at his side, that they believed us all but engaged. I knew, in my heart, that there really would never be anyone but you. But my indiscreet behaviour had all but bound my honour to his. So I pretended that I had to visit my Muggle family and made my escape. I hoped distance would weaken his affections for me and whatever expectations people had would be forgotten." She swallowed with difficulty and blinked a couple of times to stop the tears from falling. "I knew it before the accident. I knew it when I saw you standing there, on the edge of that precipice, looking out over the landscape. You were standing as if, for the first time, you no longer bore the weight of the world on your shoulders. You reminded me of the Draco Malfoy I had known in school. And I knew then that there would never be another. And every action since then only confirmed my feelings."

Draco felt compelled to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek. "You must know," he whispered, "You must know I saved him for you? You must know I went above and beyond because you asked me to? I should not have let him die, not ever, but you must know I fought through the fear and paralysis to save him because you begged me to. I did that for you, so you could be happy."

"Even though you thought, at the time, it would mean there would never be a chance for us?"

He shook his head with a sad smile. "I never really dared hope there would be such a chance."

Their conversation, so emotional it threatened to overwhelm them both, was then, thankfully, interrupted by Luna Potter, who needed Hermione's help, and she was led away. It took a few deep breaths before Draco was composed enough to talk to his guests again, and if he was a little distracted for the remainder of the evening, the others did not seem to notice.

* * *

A short conversation with his mother the following morning sufficed to confirm his suspicions.

"Miss Granger was most unkind to monopolize your attentions last night. She has no class at all. I wish you had allowed me to invite Miss Parkinson, I am sure that if you saw the two together…"

It was a more direct attack than he had been expecting, but then his mother was getting desperate. Her usual array of manipulations no longer seemed to work on him, and, knowing she had lost, she began to claw at anything within her reach in an attempt to… He had no idea what her ultimate goal was, exactly, but he no longer cared. She was leaving in an hour, and he was too happy to give her the drama she wanted. He interrupted her with an impatient wave of his hand. "Miss Parkinson should not have been able to attend yesterday's dinner party, even if she had been allowed to enter this house. I hesitate to inform you, my dear mother, that she was arrested yesterday morning, for Death Eater activity and attempted murder. You should choose your friends more wisely, Mother. A long line of magical ancestry does not exempt one of criminal tendencies." His voice was carefully void of any emotion as he spoke, and he hardly looked up from his newspaper when he addressed her. He chose not to address her low attack on Hermione Granger, as he knew it was what she wanted him to do. "But, of course, you may choose your own company in France. It hardly affects me."

Narcissa Malfoy stood up from the breakfast table in one swift and elegant move. "If you think I will sanction an alliance between you and that Granger girl…"

This time, he laid the paper down on the table and stared up at his mother. "You are mistaken if you think I will ask for your blessing. I know I cannot expect it. It is of no consequence to me, for your actions will only impact your life. I should never be so illiberal to grudge you the comforts of life, so you can rest assured I will not lay claim on the French Malfoy estates while you live there. However, if you cannot find it in your heart to fully accept that Miss Granger will be my wife and the mother of my children, you will never again set foot into this house, or any house where I live in future, nor will you be allowed to know your grandchildren. I will not expose my children to bigotry and ignorance, if I can avoid it." He sent her a sharp smile and picked up his newspaper again. "I hope you have a smooth trip back to France, Mother." He was acutely aware that she remained standing at the breakfast table for a long time, in impotent silence. He could feel the grief and anger seeping through her magic into the room, but he was not moved. It was time to wipe the slate clean.

In an hour, his mother would be gone, he would see Potter to ask for his permission to court Hermione, and then he would collect Greg from the hospital to set him up in the rooms on the second floor.

His second life was about to begin, and he was ready.

* * *

 **AN - thanks to my betas hobbit penguin and ariel riddle. Any remaining mistakes are my own. I'm afraid this is where we say goodbye to Draco and Hermione, there's only the epilogue left. Thank you for your many reviews and all the follows and favourites.**


	25. Epilogue

**25\. Epilogue**

Not much remains to be said about the fate of our heroes in this story, for if two people with such strong characters as Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Draco Malfoy decide they will spend their life together, nothing can stand in their way for long.

Harry Potter, with impish glee, saw Draco squirm and stumble over his words when he came to ask for Hermione's hand, with all the pomp and circumstance required by Magical courting protocols, and though, only for a moment, he pretended to consider refusing his consent, he was quickly reminded that Hermione had threatened to hex him into the next century if he dared withhold his blessing, even if only jokingly.

A tumultuous nine months of courtship ensued. Their intimate friends were happy for them, but the public was not quite so forgiving. Draco's apothecary, which he set up together with Greg Goyle, faced many setbacks as the people turned against his business when they realised they could not make Miss Granger change her mind.

But a strong love only grows in the face of such adversity, and it was with full conviction that both made their wedding vows at the end of the next summer.

Gregory Goyle had recovered from his injuries in the luxurious surroundings of the Dragon's Nest and was invited to remain there for as long as he wanted to. He gained not only respectability through his work with Draco and a roof above his head, but a group of friends he had never thought possible. Not only could he reconnect with the Zabini's and the Notts, he also gained the respect and friendship of both Hermione and Harry, who were incredibly grateful for his help in convicting Pansy.

Though he offered to move out as soon as the wedding day came closer, he had been persuaded to stay by both Draco and Hermione. However, out of necessity, he soon learnt the blessings of Silencing Charms. It only took two weeks before he decided to relocate to the rooms above their Apothecary at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley, despite their protestations. For security reasons, he claimed, as their shop was frequently the target of attacks, but he confided to Harry Potter one night over Firewhiskey that it simply was impossible to live under the same roof as a couple of newlyweds.

Pansy Parkinson did not escape her punishment. She was confined to Azkaban for her crimes, where she continued to plead for Draco to come and save her. The guards had been instructed never to send any of her letters through, so her pleas remained unanswered, and she slowly turned mad with longing and grief. When the twenty-year sentence she had received came to an end, Harry Potter, in a fit of spite unprecedented, made sure her existence was forgotten by the authorities. She was never set free and would die in Azkaban, alone and miserable.

Ronald Weasley would never completely get over the loss of Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy, of all people, but he accepted his defeat with more grace than either Harry or Hermione had expected. They never knew he had threatened Draco to never hurt Hermione or face a slow and torturous death. They also never knew Ron had thanked him for helping to uncover what had happened to his beloved sister and promised him eternal gratitude. The two men formed an understanding that never quite evolved into friendship, but was close enough to it to satisfy Hermione and make the dinners they inevitable had together comfortable.

Draco and Hermione were, they believed, the happiest of couples, and nothing could come between them. Their lives, as well as those of their friends, soon settled down in post-war normality, marriages blessed with companionship, happiness, and, in due course, children.

Both Amina Shafiq and Elissa Zabini treated Draco as another son in their families, which made the absence of a caring relationship with his own mother less painful. His children grew up calling them both Grandmother, and his wife found in them the support she had so dearly missed ever since Harry Potter's parents had died at the beginning of the War.

The only shadow in their lives was Narcissa Malfoy, who, for years, refused to acknowledge Hermione as her son's wife, and continued, much to Hermione's amusement and Draco's annoyance, to suggest well-bred French witches for him to marry. Needless to say she was not invited to stay at the Dragon's Nest again.

Draco did not relent even when their son was born, and she appeared at the door, pleading to see the child and insulting his wife in the same breath. He could not be persuaded by her entreaties. She was turned away without ceremony, and would grow old in solitude and bitterness.

* * *

 **AN: And that, dear readers, is that. Thank you to all who stayed with me throughout this journey. I appreciate your support and love very much. I'm taking a break from Regency writing for a bit now, as I have some other projects I want to focus on, but I really did enjoy this so I'll probably try my hand at something similar again.**

 **Special thanks to my betas hobbit penguin and ariel riddle. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**


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